


Shepherds and Sheep

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [10]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The job: deliver a Renegade to the Shepherds. And Leo gets to meet more of Zhune's old friends. What fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which There Is Time For Explanations Before We Get To Work

The condo's front door swings open. I lift my head far enough off the kitchen table to see the man who comes inside. Tall, blond, obviously has a gym membership. Wholesome-looking enough to not make parents worry, sexy enough to have the attention of fifty percent of the teens in his classes. I bet he has a charming smile.

He drops his jacket on a chair, hums a jaunty tune as he strolls forward. And comes to an abrupt stop as soon as he notices me in the kitchen. "Who are you?" Hostile and a little bewildered, which sounds right.

I wave to him with the hand not wrapped around a beer bottle. "Anthony, right?" He nods, lips pressed tight. So he's not sure if this is an atypical interrogation by the Game or what. Amusing as it would be to leave him in suspense, I'm not in the mood to play that out. "I'm with Zhune. He said you'd be back."

Suspicion disappears, promptly replaced with condescension. How typical of Zhune's old friends. "So he's stuck on babysitting duty again? It was only a matter of time. Where is he? And is that my beer you're drinking?"

"One, he's in the bedroom with your pet monkey. Two, I wouldn't buy this horse piss voluntarily, so it must be your beer."

"With my--Zhune!" The Impudite spins around, stomping towards the bedroom. "I told you to stop doing that!" The door slams behind him, cutting off a girly human squeak from inside the room. He should consider himself lucky he spoke to me first. It would have been more startling if he'd walked into the bedroom before the kitchen.

Some fifteen minutes later by my watch--assuming this expensive bit of machinery hasn't started its death spiral yet--the bedroom door opens, the Impudite leading the way. Zhune follows behind with the human girl hanging on his arm. She can't figure out if she wants to look smug or ashamed in my direction, and settles for haughty. It's not a good look on her. With five more years or evening wear she could pull it off, but tonight she looks seventeen and out past her curfew.

"You should go home now," says the Impudite, detaching her from my partner's waist. "You wouldn't want your parents to worry about you staying out too late, would you?"

"Goodnight, Mr. Morton," says the girl. She blushes prettily. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Goodnight, Jessica," says the Impudite, and kisses her on the forehead before steering her out the door.

The instant the door shuts, he spins around to lean against it, arms crossed. "You had to attune to her?"

"I didn't attune," Zhune says. He stretches out in a living room chair, moving the jacket there aside. "Why would I waste the attunement slot on a kid? I talked her into it with natural charm alone."

"Since I'm sure you haven't found a way to switch from Djinn to Balseraph, I'll have to believe you." Anthony grabs a beer from the fridge, ignoring me. "What brings you around tonight? Some job, showing the new kid the ropes, or did you actually want to visit old friends?"

"A little of the first, a little of the last," Zhune says. "And she's not a babysitting project, she's my partner. Leah? Meet Anthony."

I wave at the Impudite again, my face mostly buried behind an arm. "We met already. And the name's Leo. Leah is only a similar-sounding name that isn't masculine-marked in this culture. They're not etymologically related."

Anthony takes in the battered state of my clothing. "Calabite?"

"Got it in one."

For a moment, he looks as if he's going to tell me not to touch anything fragile or expensive. But instead he says, "Sorry for the mistake."

"I get that a lot." It makes me wonder about Zhune's previous babysitting projects, that every old friend of his does the eye-rolling sneer when they see me. I'd ask, but given the horror story about what happened to the most recent one, I'm probably happier not knowing.

Anthony unfolds his arms, pulls a chair out from the kitchen table to sit between Zhune and me. "Then I apologize for adding to the irritation. It must get old." He sounds sincere, not that I believe it for an instant. Still, bonus points to a demon who's willing to apologize to people not vastly more powerful than him, sincerely or otherwise. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

Zhune snickers, from his position in the living room. "She's trying to shake a hangover."

The Impudite turns to look at me more closely. "At ten in the evening?"

"It depends on when you start drinking," I say. "Since I drive drunk better than Zhune does sober, he hasn't objected." I straighten up enough to finish off the bottle of beer. The taste hasn't improved any as it warms. 

"I agree on this, and I don't know how well you drive." Anthony leans on the back of the chair, turning towards Zhune. "Do you want to explain why you're in my condo, drinking my beer, and seducing my pets? Or should I guess?"

"You shouldn't leave your girls alone in your home," Zhune says. "It's lousy security. As for why we're here... We need a place to stay for a week or two. Someplace that won't be getting the investigation local hotels and motels might be. This seemed ideal."

"Two weeks? You're Theft. You don't stay anywhere two weeks." The Impudite stands up abruptly. "I'm going to need a drink for this, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't recommend looking in your fridge, if so," I say. "Because all you're going to find is more of this."

"I save my expensive tastes for women," he says, and brings me another beer from the fridge with his. How considerate. He makes no move to offer Zhune one, whether as a snub or due to the Djinn's lack of expressed interest. Even in cheap beer, I love the hiss and pop of the resonated bottle cap disappearing.

"Could've fooled me," Zhune says. He seems comfortable with being left beverage-free. Djinn don't express strong opinions on most topics. Making a fuss about it would imply he cared. "She has enthusiasm, but not much skill. That doesn't strike me as expensive."

"If the wrong people find out, she'd cost me my job. So she's not _that_ cheap." Anthony waves his bottle at Zhune. "You're avoiding the subject. Two weeks? Tell me you're kidding."

"Two weeks," Zhune repeats. "We'll cycle it, and separately, so that we don't leave any time uncovered. Someone will be showing up in need of a meeting, and we're supposed to meet them." More information than I would be passing out to a Servitor of another Word, even one we're friendly with and want a favor from, but Zhune knows the guy and gets to make that call. "What, don't you want houseguests?"

"You're going to cramp my style," says Anthony. "A few days I wouldn't mind, but two weeks? Most of my pets are nervous enough without strangers in the condo, and I can't bring Jessica home every night, or someone will notice."

"I recall an incident a few years back," Zhune says, "when evidence you would have found inconvenient to your Role disappeared with no trace."

"Which is why I'd give you a few days. But not two weeks." Anthony drinks his beer the way Lust demons do, baring his throat in an elegant line. "You want a favor like that, you'd better be working on more than lingering goodwill."

I down more weak beer. Better than warm weak beer, but only marginally. "And here I was thinking that the warmth of interWord cooperation would be sufficient." I'm more accustomed to working for Superiors that hate Lusties, not work with them.

The Impudite thinks this over before answering. "Not quite. I can play nice when it's convenient, but I have my own projects. How about this? Give me a hand with a Rite every day you're here, and I can live with a two week visit."

"I don't do men," Zhune says. "You know that."

Both of them look at me.

"Oh, like _hell_ ," I say. "I don't have sex with people I don't like." I'm never forgiving Zhune for getting me stuck with this too-young, too-pretty vessel. As if being female and short weren't bad enough.

Anthony smiles brightly at me. "I can be very likable."

"You can't afford me," I say, and go back to hunching over my beer. It's been years since I was propositioned by a Lustie, and I haven't missed it. "Why does a Taker need that much Essence? Can't you pick it up at your school?"

"I have a little project," he says. "It has a budget. Charming's enough to keep me within safe limits for personal use, but isn't sufficient to cover the project and my own needs. Get me an extra Essence each day to make up for putting a crimp in my social life, and I'll consider it fair."

"The rent's ridiculous." I glare across the room at Zhune, trying to project my intense desire to not get stuck in a condo with a greedy Impudite of Lust for two weeks. We've been here two hours, and I'm ready to leave.

"We can afford that," Zhune says. Thanks for nothing, partner. "What kind of little project?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in," Anthony says breezily.

"Sorcerer in the basement," I say. It's satisfying to watch the Impudite start at that. "Either that or you have a refrigerator-sized reliquary you're using to save up for your own flying pony, but that seemed unlikely."

Anthony blinks at me a few times, then says, "Technically, she's not in the basement. Two-bedroom condo. Plenty of room for ritual space. Zhune? You didn't pick this one for her ability to make things blow up, did you?"

"She's good with explosives," Zhune says, quietly smug as only a Djinn can be. "But it wasn't her primary draw. Nor, before you ask, was the vessel. That's new."

"I wasn't going to suggest that you'd chosen partners for their looks," Anthony says. "Not out loud. Apparently you haven't." He smiles at me over his beer, annoyance at my lucky guess disappeared. "Any experience working with sorcerers?"

"None. Humans can be annoying enough on their own merits without giving them delusions of grandeur. And that's before they try to order you around." I weigh the annoyance of helping a sorcerer against sex with a Servitor of Lust. The sorcerer is winning out. I'm not worried about getting on a summoning list; what self-respecting dabbler in the arcane would go through an entire ritual to call up someone named Leo?

"Give them an occasional pat on the ego, and they're easy to manipulate. Don't worry about it. I might ask for help with ingredients, and you don't have to talk to her in person." Anthony waves the matter away casually, a sure sign that it's going to be more annoying than he's promising. "So who are you meeting, and how are they contacting you? If you're going to drag someone else into the condo--"

"We'll leave as soon as we meet up," Zhune says. "As for the rest..." He shrugs, offers a charming smile to put even an Impudite to shame. "What's your sorcerer doing?"

Anthony chuckles. "Okay, I get your point. Nothing that you'd find interesting, and I trust the reverse is the same for your job. But if it'll bring trouble here, give me some warning first."

"If trouble arises, I'll be running before I come back here to give you notice," I say. Zhune's pointed look reminds me that we have to play nice with Lust. "...but I'm sure we can call from the road with a warning."

"So kind," Anthony says. He makes his way to the couch (leather, black, typical for Lust) to lounge artistically there, giving up on keeping an equal distance between the two of us. Or maybe it's an invitation, with the space he leaves beside him. "So how did the two of you end up together? No offense, Leah--ah, Leo, you prefer?--but I didn't think Zhune would take on another partner after Henry got himself skunked."

"Leo, please. Zhune was assigned as a babysitter," I say, because I'd rather tell this story my way than find out how my partner would. "He decided I was worth keeping aroun. He seems to know what he's doing, so I haven't seen any reason to disagree. It's been a year and change."

"You seem to know what you're doing on the corporeal," Anthony says. He reaches out with one foot to shove Zhune's boots off the glass-topped coffee table. "Fast learner, or transfer from another Word?"

"Both," says Zhune. "We swiped her from the War, who borrowed her from Fire." I could have done without that piece of information getting passed along. My history is my own damn business.

"Congratulations on getting out of there alive," Anthony says, lifting his bottle to me. Not the reaction I was expecting. I don't know if it's my inexperience with Lust or if it's just him, but I'm not predicting this Impudite's moves very well. Not something I like; I'm more comfortable with people who embrace their stereotypes. They're easier to manipulate.

"I've had as many near escapes from death in Theft as I did in the previous two combined, so I'm not sure congratulations are in order." I can sit in the kitchen looking sulky and juvenile, or I can sit in the living room with two demons who want to get into my pants while I pretend I don't mind. I _am_ sulky and juvenile, but the latter seems wiser, so I stroll over with the bottle in my hand. Given the choice between the couch, the floor, and Zhune's lap, I take the least humiliating seat available to me. The Impudite moves over to give me more room when I sit down. I'm suspicious of a demon on such good behavior. But maybe it's only that I'm more familiar with Impudites of Theft, who are looking for a chance to pick my pocket when they pretend to have manners. "If we're going to sit around drinking lousy beer all night, this will get old fast."

"Zhune can stare at a wall all night if he has to," says the Impudite, with a long slow look over me to take in whatever of my vessel was hidden by the table earlier. It's the kind of look that makes me wish for baggier clothing, no matter what my partner says about tight clothing being more effective for stealth. "If you're bored, I could keep you entertained."

"But what would I do once those five minutes were up?" I get a snicker out of Zhune with that one. I should let this guy know that I'm not at my most amenable when dealing with a hangover, if he hasn't already figured it out by now.

Anthony shrugs. "If you're not up for anything more active, there's always late night television. I have the full cable package." He tosses the remote to me, showing either a profound lack of concern for his electronic equipment, or a complete lack of understanding of Calabite side-effects. "It's a school night, and so I have to act like an actual schoolteacher. Hold out for another night, and on Friday I can take you somewhere fun."

"I'll bout of the city Friday night," Zhune says. "You can take Leah to places you find entertaining."

It's not like Zhune to pass up a trip to a bar, especially on an assignment promising to be so long and dull as this one. Anthony looks to have the same opinion on the matter. "You don't want to come along?"

"There's no point in cutting this close," Zhune says. "Leaving Friday gives me plenty of space to get out and back without making her push the time limit."

"Or maybe you don't want to be gone while your partner and I are alone in the condo."

"Go ahead. Try to seduce her. I won't stand in your way."

"I didn't say I was planning on it. You're the one going out of your way to keep an eye on me."

"One, I don't care if you do. Two, you're not her type. Three, if she's sitting around your condo bored while I'm not here? You probably want to get her away from anything expensive."

It would draw attention if I protested them talking about me as if I'm not here. I hit the power button on the remote, and the wide-screen TV snaps to life. From the waterfall, women in bikinis, and scrolling text telling me how to order, I'd guess this is one of the porn channels. "Any votes on what channel we spend the night staring at?"

"No sports," says Anthony. "I get enough of that at work."

"No movies," says Zhune. "You analyze them to death."

And I'm not in the mood for porn. I flick through channels until I get to a nature documentary, then kick back on the couch, one leg dangling over the arm. I could get a better sprawl going if it wouldn't risk running into the Impudite. I try not to touch Servitors of Lust on general safety principles.

"You have to be kidding," Anthony says.

I wave the remote at him. "You didn't veto it earlier, so you lost your chance. What, you aren't interested in the life cycle of elk?"

Zhune smirks from his chair. "Relax, Anthony. Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll cover a mating sequence."

"I hate you all," says the Impudite cheerfully, and stretches out along the couch, almost close enough to annoy me. He closes his eyes. "Wake me up around seven, will you?"

"Sure," says Zhune, curling up comfortably in his chair. Anthony's right about Djinn staring at walls for hours.

Which leaves me watching nature documentaries all night, with nothing better to do than stare at the television and wait for morning.

Could be a lot worse.


	2. In Which I Keep Myself Amused

One of the little-documented benefits of being a Calabite is the ease with which we can feed pigeons. Other people have to go to trouble of turning bread into crumbs. All I did was carry a half loaf inside my jacket the park. The twenty minute walk was enough to turn it into crumbs sized for the winged rats now flocking around our feet. I pitch another handful of crumbs at the birds, and watch the bread bounce off heads. This would be more entertaining with rocks.

Zhune begins whistling beside me. It takes me a moment to place the tune. "Didn't know you were a Tom Lehrer fan."

"Not much of one, but it seemed appropriate." Zhune's arm rests behind me on the back of the bench, not quite touching. "You could make one of those pigeons explode into a puff of blood and feathers, couldn't you? Without anyone hearing it."

"Sure, but then I'd get blood on my jeans." I toss out the rest of the crumbs, then wipe my hands. "Which might be an improvement to their current condition. I'm not sure how I got motor oil on the cuffs between the time we left the condo and when we arrived here, given that we walked."

"Magic," Zhune says.

"That would explain it."

"And tiny gremlins of Technology, who sneak around getting oil on clothing just to annoy people."

"Let's not get silly, here."

"Bored stiff?"

"You have no idea." I toss the empty bread bag towards the garbage can. It's too light for its surface area to make it there against air resistance. I stand up, walk over to the garbage can, put the bag in directly, then return to the park bench. "Want to go set a building on fire?"

"I don't think that would fit the 'subtle' part of the mission parameters."

"It was worth asking."

Zhune reaches into his jacket, and produces a green plastic rectangle. "I knew you'd be fidgety by this point. So I borrowed Anthony's library card. There's a branch three blocks down that street, take a left at the light. They have automated checkout, so you shouldn't have to worry about anyone noticing you don't look like an Anthony. Have fun."

"You give the best presents, Zhune." I grab the card and stand up before he can change his mind. "See you back at the condo this afternoon?"

"Try not to make the library computers go up in smoke," he says. "The humans notice things like that."

"I'll see what I can do." Overfed pigeons waddle out of my way, slowly enough to tempt me to try pigeon-punting. What humans get out of feeding the little vermin I couldn't say. A sense of accomplishment from having a larger supply of surplus food than dumb animals?

Several hours later, the librarian on duty is giving me looks that suggest I should go do something like eating lunch to keep up the human pretense. This is the problem with small libraries, aside from the too few books; people notice if you stay inside all day. My watch stopped some time this morning, but it's around the time the Impudite will get back from school. I have the feeling I don't want Anthony and Zhune to hold extended conversations without me present. It's probably only demonic selfishness that makes me think they'd be talking about me, but it's a possibility. Either one of them is bad enough on his own without the two of them conspiring. I gather up the load of books I've acquired, and head back to the condo.

The elevator in the building has an out of order sign taped to the doors. Not my fault this time. I take the steps up, a pair of kids scampering past me on the way. Definitely the time that school lets out.

One floor down from Anthony's apartment, a faint buzz of disturbance stops me mid-step. I can't place its flavor: it's not from a celestial being causing damage, not a Song, not anyone swapping vessels or moving between planes. It's clear and close enough for me to follow it to the door of unit 306. I give it a moment's thought, the echoes fading around me, before knocking. My guess could be wrong, but I'm bored enough to risk it.

The door swings open to reveal a middle-aged woman no taller than I am, with a friendly round face. "You must be Leah," she says.

"Anthony gave you warning?"

"That he had houseguests who might show up at the door if I got too loud." She steps back, smiling at me. "Come on in. He won't be home for another hour or three. I can't remember if he coaches soccer on Thursday afternoons or not. Do you drink tea?"

"Not usually." I follow the sorcerer inside. The layout of her condo is different than the Impudite's, to accommodate the second bedroom and a study with a folding door. The living room could belong to any human: neat without being compulsively tidy, decorated with crocheted afghans on the couches and cheap watercolors on the walls. "Don't suppose you have any beer?"

"I don't drink," she says, and puts a mug of water in the microwave. So it's not exactly Flowers-style tea. "But I could get you some hot chocolate."

"No thanks." The disturbance fades away into nothing. "I can head upstairs. I just wanted to check out the noise in case it _wasn't_ you."

"No need to rush off." She sits down on the couch, hands in her lap. "Unless you'd like to. My name's Alice, by the way. Knowing Anthony, he hasn't told you a thing about me."

"Not really." I take a seat on the couch opposite her, setting the books I've been carrying down beside me. "Pleased to meet you, Alice." I'm not sure what to say to a sorcerer, but neither am I in a hurry to stare at the same condo walls again. "What _did_ he tell you about us?"

"That he had two friends visiting, and I shouldn't worry if they came investigating little disturbances." The microwave dings. "How about cookies? I picked up a dozen oatmeal cookies from the bakery while I was out this morning. They're not warm anymore, but still fresh."

If I keep saying no, she's going to be offering to cook me dinner and introduce her to her handsome-yet-single son. "Sure. How did you two meet? Summoned him up?"

"Oh, no," she says. "I haven't summoned demons in years, and even then they were the very small ones. You know, imps and gremlins with no appreciable powers." She sits back down with a mug of tea, plate of cookies, and a glass of milk I didn't ask for to set on a painted ceramic coaster. "There are old sorcerers, and bold sorcerers, but no old, bold sorcerers. We happened to run into each other after I made too much noise, and he agreed to help me out with a long-term project."

I take a cookie from the plate, and wonder what Anthony is getting out of this. Unless he's unlike other Servitors of Lust I've known, he's not in this relationship for the sex. A demon in a quiet Role might find himself never spending Essence, making daily Essence plus the results of a Rite he enjoys anyway no great expense, but we don't give people that kind of thing out of the goodness of our hearts. "Long-term project?"

"Nothing that would interest you," Alice says brightly. "Tell me, Leah, are you an incubus too? Or would that be succubus, with the female form? I'm unclear on whether they're gendered titles for the same type of demon, or distinct species."

"Neither. And they're not names demons use for themselves." I should be charging her for information, if this is the kind of knowledge she has after working directly with a demon.

"Oh, right. Impudites and...the daughters of Lilith, was it? The books use so many different terms for these things, and one never knows if words in other languages should be translated phonetically or literally." She peers at me over her mug of tea, and adds in a diplomatic voice, "You didn't strike me as the succubus type. I'm afraid that fI haven't dealt with many demons, so I can't address you properly."

"Leah's fine," I say. "I'm not big into titles. The demons who get fancy around sorcerers do it because it's the only chance they get to look important. A demon can shred an unwary sorcerer without reaching middle management in Hell."

"I do get that impression." Alice holds the plate out to me as I finish my first cookie. "Would it be too presumptuous to ask what kind of demon you are?"

There's something endearing about a sorcerer who asks directly and politely for information. "Calabite. One of the Destroyers. Heard of us?"

"Many a demon has been referred to as a destroyer in my books, but I was under the impression it was a job title," she says. "What do you destroy?"

"Whatever's in the way." I pick up a cookie, hold it out flat in my hand in front of her. The crumbs break fine enough to sift between my fingers like dust. "It has its uses."

"I can only imagine!" She holds up the plate again. "Thank you for keeping the crumbs off the rug. I vacuumed this morning."

"No problem." The cookies aren't bad, though I prefer barbecue to baked goods. "So how did you get into sorcery in the first place?"

"Oh, the usual way. Started off trying to curse my ex for not paying child support, and a few years later I'm summoning unholy creatures over a dead goat in the kitchen. You know how it goes."

"...I'll take your word for it." I'm trying to find a polite way to ask if said child still exists, or went the way of the goat, when the front door bangs open.

"Mom! I'm going upstairs to play video games with Serena, okay?" The kid looks about twelve, and only stops to stare at me after he's tossed his backpack into a corner of the room.

"Do you have any homework?"

"Two worksheets, math and science. I'll get them done before bed, promise." He stares at me while he's talking to his mother. I stare right back. "So who's the girl?"

"Woman," Alice corrects, firmly. "You do not refer to adults as 'girls'. It's rude."

"She _looks_ like she could be in high school. So who's the woman?"

I turn back to Alice. "So who's the kid?"

"His name is Jerome, and he's going upstairs to play video games," Alice says, voice too artificially cheerful. "Jerome? This is one of Mr. Morton's friends who's stopped by to say hello."

"Oh," he says. "I'll have dinner there, okay?" And then dashes out, door slamming behind him.

"I'm sorry," says Alice, "he's ruder than he should be, but he's only a boy--"

"Relax." For all my smarts, it took me a moment to understand why the woman was so nervous. I'm out of practice in dealing with Aware humans. "I'm not going to hurt a kid for being a kid. Hell, I like kids." The tension hasn't left her body, though she's smiling fixedly as if she believes me. "Not in the sense of having them for breakfast. They're selfish and act on instinctual desires with justifications provided later. They remind me of myself when I was growing up."

"Demons growing up," Alice says, and shakes her head. I pretend I don't notice her hand shaking when she picks up her tea. "I imagined you springing fully formed from the bowels of Hell, but if there are small demons, I suppose they must grow up into larger ones."

"That's the theory. I was a full demon when I was made. But it takes time to learn how the world works." I dip my cookie in the milk, and she lets herself settle down. You can't be afraid of a young woman having milk and cookies, no matter what you know her to be. "Not too long a time, or someone shreds you for being annoying. It's like evolution in action, except for the part where we evolve. Hell displays Social Darwinism at its finest."

"What's it like, to grow up in Hell?" Lucky sorcerer, to get a chatty demon in her living room for half an hour. I see no reason not to oblige. Up until the point where it compromises my own safety, what do I care if an Aware human knows more about the details of Hell? She can work it out in person once she's dead.

"I can't speak for other parts of Hell, but where I grew up, it's like interning for a large company. Except with more fire and torture."

"Inflicting torture, or receiving it?"

"Both. Oh, and your fellow interns want to kill you and take your place, except for the ones who want to torment you to show their superiority. Frankly, I was happy to escape to Earth."

"I can see why." Alice picks up another cookie. "When I was younger, I wanted to travel to another world, full of fantastic adventures and strange creatures. The Narnia books, Alice in Wonderland... I was named after that Alice. But it seems that of all possible worlds, Earth is the best anyone can find. It's a little sad." She chuckles. "Or perhaps I'm a little sad, to care about these things. I'm in good health and well off financially, so why should I be complaining about the tragedies of the corporeal world? They aren't happening to _me_."

"I've heard Heaven isn't bad." My cookie is dissolving in the milk before I can eat it. "Couldn't really say. It always sounded boring. They probably object to punching people who annoy you, and blowing things up. Plus, you get angels walking around reading your mind all the time." I down the rest of my milk, and find it full of soggy crumbs at the bottom. It's more juvenile than I'm willing to look in front of company to dig those out with a finger, so I leave them alone. "In their defense, I'm told they have a great library system."

Alice's lips twitch. I don't think she can tell if I'm being serious or not. "Aren't you supposed to be promoting the wonders of Hell?"

"Are you kidding? It's called Hell for a reason. Generally when people sell their souls to demons, it's not with the expectation of great things in the afterlife." I take the last cookie off the plate without asking. No doubt poor table manners are a demonic trait. "I mean, I'm told that in Shal-Mari the damned souls have a chance of a nearly comfortable life, and all those juicy pleasures of the flesh, if they're lucky and careful. But where I grew up? It's all burn, burn, burn. Very boring. Oh, and then sometimes we'd make the souls go build a city so that we could burn it down again. Talk about repetitive. Even torture gets old after a while."

"I... I imagine it would." She picks up the empty plate and glass to carry them back to the kitchen. "If these things are so dull, why does Hell keep doing them? Hasn't it been millennia?"

"Maybe other demons aren't as easily bored as I am. I have a short attention span." I lick crumbs off my fingers. "As demons go, I'm young. It's possible that with age you have to learn to enjoy doing the same thing ten million times in a row, because you're going to run out of variations by century six or seven."

"I suppose you'd have to." Alice frowns, not at me but off into the distance as if she's trying to decide on whether or not to ask me a question. If Anthony gets annoyed by what I've told her, it's no less than what he deserves for the rent he's charging. "Leah, what's the longest you've ever heard of a human living? Not the geriatric cases who dodder off at a hundred and twenty, but the ones who dabble in the arcane the way I do."

So that's what she's working on. I still can't see Anthony's angle on the matter, nor do I know enough about sorcery to know what she's doing to reach her goal. "Looking for eternal youth?"

She snorts in an unladylike manner. "Hardly. I was no great beauty in my youth, and regaining that youth would get me nothing but attention when people began to notice I never aged. Eternal middle-age, hovering ever between thirty and sixty, would suit me nicely. I imagine there are practical limits."

"There's Lilith, but she's a special case. Beyond that..." I tuck my hands behind my head. "I'm not the person to be asking. The Hellsworn working for one of my previous employers had short lives ending in messy ways, and I doubt that's atypical. I know there's a Song that can reverse aging, but I don't know if gives you actual youth, or only makes you look younger. Even if it does reverse aging, I imagine a brain can only hold so much information. Maybe you can live forever with the right Song, but can only remember, oh, a hundred years or so at a time. I didn't take biology in college, and certainly didn't study how supernatural effects like Songs might affect it. A Vapulan might be able to tell you, but then, they might also throw a half-dozen uses of the Song at you and then dissect you to see how it affected your brain. So I wouldn't recommend asking one. Or there's the undead, but... you don't want to mess with Saminga. Trust me."

"I need to do more research," Alice says. She sounds more determined than disappointed. Sorcerers who find the truth discouraging probably switch to safer careers, like highway repair and bear wrestling.

"Hey, don't let me stop you. I'm all in favor of people learning the facts of the matter before making major life decisions." I shut up at a knocking on the door. That's one of two people, neither of which would appreciate me going into detail about my views on human stupidity and how it ought to be fixed to an actual human.

Alice answers the door, and it's my second guess. Anthony smiles at me, with an edge to it. He'll be asking questions later. "Leah. Didn't expect to see you here. Where's John?"

"At the park. Or back in the condo, I don't know. We're not joined at the hip." I stand up, grab my books. "Nice talking to you, Alice. Thanks for the cookies."

"Any time," she says, and waves to me as I slip past the Impudite in the doorway. "Come by again, and we can talk more, if you're in the area."

"I'd love to!" My charming smile is designed for a male vessel, but translates well enough to this one. I saunter towards the stairs before Anthony can say a thing.

Anthony reappears in his condo fifteen minutes later, after another rattle of disturbance from the floor below. "Do I want to know what you were doing with her?" he asks, tossing jacket and shoulder bag onto the couch as I've taken possession of the one armchair.

"Having cookies." I flip to another channel. Five hundred channels, and I can't find anything that I want to watch. Nybbas is slacking. "Also, milk. I always thought sorcerers would be annoying. That they might offer me afternoon snacks never sprang to mind. Is she atypical, or have I been misinformed?"

"More the former." He leans over the back of the chair to take the remote out of my hand. We're now stuck on some inane game show involving under-dressed women in high heels and an over-excited contestant. "You _do_ realize she's trying to use you, right?"

"Have I somehow convinced you I'm stupid between last night and this afternoon? Of course she's trying to use me. I assume that of everyone, and doubly so for people who are Aware." I pull his library card out of my jeans. "Thanks for the loan."

He takes the card back with a dramatic sigh. "I should blame Zhune for this, shouldn't I?"

"Blame me for what?"

Both of us turn to look at the door. "You could knock," Anthony says.

"Why? The door was unlocked." Zhune walks past me towards the kitchen, fingers trailing through my hair on the way. "I picked up better beer while I was out." The set of bottles he puts in the fridge won't last the night, between the three of us, but they'll go a long way towards reducing the number of homicides in the condo.

Anthony sits down on his couch. "If I turn on the news, will they be mentioning a robbed liquor store?"

"Of course not," says Zhune. "Knocking over liquor stores is for amateurs, and seldom makes the news unless someone died. Besides, two hundred dollars of alcohol would make for an awkward getaway." He tosses me a new watch, some shiny bit of machinery that belongs on an arm beneath an Armani sleeve. "That, however, covers the Rite. I can afford to pay you before the sun goes down."

Should it bother me that Zhune can predict better than I can when my latest watch will die? I replace the dead watch with the new one while Zhune and Anthony handle the transfer of Essence. "I could feel bad about doing in so many expensive watches, if they weren't such conspicuous displays of wealth. Does anyone wear a watch like this because they want really accurate time-keeping?"

"I'm thinking no." Anthony spreads across the couch such that there's no place for Zhune to sit. The Impudite looks irate for no reason I can pinpoint. Maybe it's the prospect of another evening surrounded by people who consider his pockets public property. "No nature documentaries tonight. No sports. What are we watching?"

"No movies," says Zhune.

I hook my legs over the arm of the chair. "I bet sorcerers think demons live such exciting lives. No porn."

"Game shows it is." Anthony tucks the remote away behind him on the couch, while Zhune takes a seat in front of me, resting against my legs. "Do we have any objections to game shows?"

"It depends on whether or not anyone minds Leo giving the answer halfway through trivia questions," Zhune says.

"I always thought doing that was the point of watching game shows," Anthony says. "We should get some entertainment out of the stupidity of humanity."

"A man after my own heart," I say. "Dibs on the beer."


	3. In Which I Get Some Space

Anthony waits thirty seconds after the door closes behind Zhune before he says, "Now we can get you dressed."

I don't bother looking up from _Sense and Sensibility_. "If we're going to a place with a dress code, they won't let me through the door. It'll look trashed as soon as I put it on."

"You can get away with grunge if I'm taking you in. But it has to look like _deliberate_ grunge, not like you walked through a thrift store and pointed at the T-shirt rack with your eyes closed." He crouches down in front of me, far too enthusiastic about this. "Come on. It'll be fun."

"So is sitting at home reading a book."

"We're out of beer."

I mark my place. "Fine, you talked me into it. I'll accessorize if you have something handy." Not that I'm going to admit it to him, but after two days of the park, library, and condo, I'm ready to start climbing the walls. This had better not take two weeks. "But there's not much you can do with this outfit."

"Who said I'm using that outfit?" The Impudite offers me a hand up, tucks it away when I stand up on my own. "Knowing fashion comes with the Band, aside from being part of the Word. There's not much I can do with hair that short, but it's not a dreadful cut. Everything else changes."

I follow him into the bedroom. I haven't been in this room before, but it's what I would've expected. Silk sheets, dark red blankets, a bed big enough for three people. All it needs is a mirror on the ceiling and something in leopard print. "Don't tell me you carry clothing in my size."

"Of course I do," Anthony says, sliding open a closet door. "Not every high school girl has the wardrobe to get into the clubs I prefer. Now, you're shorter than my female vessel, but some of this should fit you."

"I'm not a dress-up Calabite." I'm reconsidering playing along with this plan. I could go steal a car myself for the night. On the other hand, I wouldn't know where to go, and I've found that drinking by myself in this vessel is a recipe for harassment by stupid humans who need their tires punctured.

"No, a dress-up Calabite would talk less." He flips through hanging shirts, turning back to look at me as if I might suddenly become less grubby and more appropriate for the clothing at hand. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not _complaining_. I'd rather have conversation than not. Zhune's last babysitting project, that was a dress-up Calabite. Destructive little idiot. I needed a new entertainment system after a two-day visit, and I'd sooner try to have an intelligent conversation with a parakeet. How do you feel about blue?"

"I have no strong preferences on blue. Nothing looks good on me." I slouch in the closet doorway, watching the clothing pile up at Anthony's feet. "What do you mean by her being a dress-up Calabite? From what I heard about that one, she wasn't passive."

Anthony tosses me a pair of jeans, the knees ripped out in even shreds. "See if these fit. No, she wasn't passive when it came to breaking things, but she rolled over and bared her throat when it came to Zhune. Spent more of her time in this condo with her pants off than on, and that wasn't my doing. Sure, it was entertaining for the one day, but I can get all the blank-eyed adoration I want out of humans."

I kick off my shoes, pull down my pants, yank on the pair he's passed me. "Tight, but I'll live. She spent the whole time here on her back?"

"Back, front, knees, up against the wall, whatever." He crouches to search through shoes on the closet floor. "I've seduced people to coerce them, distract them, charm them, convince them, all manner of things, but that's the only time I've screwed someone to keep her from breaking my possessions. How do you feel about heels?"

"I wear shoes with high heels the day I'm knocked unconscious and they're tied to my feet. What's wrong with my shoes?"

"They're sneakers about to fall apart, that's what. Sandals?"

"No sandals. If I can't run in them, I'm not wearing them."

"Picky. What shoe size do you wear?"

"Five." The way Zhune's friends react to my presence makes more sense now. So his last project wasn't only a destructive idiot, but one who clung to him the way his Servants do. It's going to be years before I meet anyone he knows who doesn't expect me to do the same, especially in this vessel.

"Five? Oh, men's five." Anthony stands up, passes me a set of shiny black boots. "See if these fit. Socks are in the box by the door."

I sit down on the bed to try the boots on. The Impudite looks like he's having far too much fun. "Where are we going? I need to stay close to this area in case the message shows up tonight."

"Not far. The club's in a basement a mile away. We could walk, except that showing up on foot might bump us down in status, and I'd have to pay off the bouncer to get inside. They know me there, but they have standards."

"Their standards can't be high if they'll let me inside." A shirt hits me in the face. "Am I wearing all black? I don't do the goth thing."

"I have a limited selection, and your hair color rules out half these shirts. I can't put you in anything white with that skin shade. Try it on." Anthony closes the closet, moves on to another door. Which turns out to lead into a walk-in closet, this one full of clothing suited to his current vessel. "Why the questions about Zhune's last protege? She's long gone."

I pull my shirt off, try to figure out how the one he threw me goes on. There are seamed holes and tears that try to catch my arms. It would be easier to buy a new shirt and attack it with a knife. "If every demon I meet for the next decade is going say, 'Hey, Zhune!' and then ignore me until I demonstrate greater intelligence than your average Pomeranian, it's nice to know why." My image in the mirror is as ragged as ever. I'll have to take his word that this is an improvement. 

"Could be worse," Anthony says. "You could have followed Henry." He drops a belt in my lap, moves on to dig through a dresser drawer. "Put those on."

"I don't need a belt. I'm going to have trouble getting these pants _off_ again. What would be wrong about following Henry? He sounded intelligent. Weird sense of humor, but intelligent."

"The belt pulls the outfit together. Trust me on this one." He shuts the drawer, and then leans against a wall with his arms crossed until I pull the belt on. "Let me tell you why you don't want to be following Henry. If the last kid was an idiot, Henry was fucking psycho. I don't know why Zhune put up with him."

"Zhune will put up with a lot." I give the new boots a few steps, to make sure they won't be raising blisters by the end of the night. "What do you mean by psycho? I heard about him stringing up some Shedite by the guts--"

"Dark Humor would have liked him," Anthony says. I've heard Magpies speak of the Game with less loathing. "You'd never catch him killing a human--he wouldn't even _hit_ one, that I ever heard of--but he liked fucking with their heads. Fucking with people. Zhune mentioned that he pulled evidence once, on my behalf? It wouldn't have been there except for Henry deciding to play games with my students. He probably wasn't pushing for the suicide attempt, but I'm not going to draw a line between intent and results."

"So I get the choice of being taken for an idiot who breaks things, or for some loon who likes to fuck with heads for fun." I yank a sleeve down; it keeps riding up at the elbow. This is why I wear short-sleeved shirts and jackets, or looser clothing. "Zhune couldn't have dragged anyone well-behaved and smart around with him?"

"He's a thrill-seeker. Weird quality in a Djinn, but a Djinn has to be weird to serve Theft." Anthony leaves the wall to hand me a pair of gloves. "Either he's learned to put pragmatism before pleasure, or you're dangerous in a way I haven't worked out yet."

"It was just an assignment." I pull on the gloves. They're fingerless, comfortable, black. I don't see a lot of point in them, but who am I to argue with an Impudite about clothing selection? "We work well together."

"And?"

"And we work well together. That's it." I spread my arms. "So do I get the Lust stamp of approval, or do I need to change again? The night's not getting any younger."

"The Lust stamp of approval requires a closer inspection than you'll accept," Anthony says, "but you'll do. Do you have any ID saying you're over 21, or do I need to pack extra cash?"

I go through the pockets of my own pants on the floor for cash and driver's license. "I have ID. Do you really take your students to this place? Because I'm not going to play at that."

"Like I want you calling me Mr. Morton all night? I'll tell them you're the little sister of an old friend, visiting from out of town. You can do your own thing without hanging off me if you'd like." Considerate of him, which makes me suspicious. He grabs his jacket on the way to the door. "Car's in the garage."

Building maintenance has repaired the elevators since yesterday. Anthony spends the ride down to the garage checking himself out in the mirrors, while I slouch in a corner. I'll grant him this: the outfit he put together doesn't look any worse when I step out of the elevator than it did when I put it on, scuff marks on the boots aside.

His car is all Impudite. "How do you afford a Jaguar on a teacher's salary?" I slide into the passenger side seat, not expecting that he'd let me drive. I'm a little surprised he'd even let me inside, with the way I affect machinery. Showing up in style must be more important than keeping his car pristine.

"Careful budgeting."

"A few months without a food budget?"

"A few favors from the sorcerer downstairs. She helps me, I help her, we all go home happy." So maybe I can understand what would keep him handing over two Essence a day for a human's wacky schemes. "I told the other teachers that a rich uncle died." He's not a bad driver. I wonder if it's really that simple, Essence for money and small favors. "Incidentally, if you're planning on bringing anyone home--"

"I'm not."

"You might change your mind."

"Unlike you, I'm not willing to have sex with humans. Or most demons."

"Except for Zhune."

"Zhune's not at the club, is he? So that's not relevant." I dig out my cash to check how much I have. If it comes down to it, I can swipe a wallet from a drunk. Clubs with standards must price their drinks higher than the bars I prefer. "I'm not looking to pick anyone up. I just want to get out of the house and slightly drunk."

"If your idea of slightly drunk is anything like what Zhune's told me, that means I'll have to carry you, doesn't it?"

"You don't have anything better to talk about with him than me?"

Anthony chuckles. "And when the two of us are together, we talk about him. We're a bunch of demons sent to do our work in a world full of humans. Like we have anything better to talk about than each other?"

He has a point. Fortunately, I'm saved from having to acknowledge it by arrival at the club. We're early enough that there's barely a line down the stairs. Anthony passes the car keys off to a valet, and walks right past the people waiting. The bouncer at the door even smiles when the Impudite cuts to the front . "Tony, where've you been?"

"Busy," Anthony says, and shakes the bouncer's hand. He's always charming, but now he's Charming the human right out of his skull. "I've been away too long. Nobody will remember what I want to drink."

"We couldn't forget you," says the bouncer. "Vic's been asking after you, just this last week."

"Then I'll have to say hello." Anthony breezes on inside, and I follow behind. No one asks for my ID.

I don't mind loud interiors. I could do without the flashing lights. By the time we're out of the doorway, I feel like I've had two beers from the vertigo alone. It's barely ten at night, and the room already churns with bodies. "I need to find Vic," Anthony explains, nearly shouting in my ear. "Bar's to your right. I'll catch up."

He disappears before I can acknowledge what he said. For an instant I'm abandoned in the middle of the crowd, wondering what I'm supposed to be doing.

I'm a demon, surrounded by humans. I do what I want. 

Unlike Zhune, I can't slide through a crowd, but this vessel's small enough that I can push my way to the bar with minimal fuss. From the counter I can spot darker sections of the room with tables hidden behind half walls, archways to halls in the back. Five to one you can get private rooms if you know the right person, and for twice as much someone to join you in one. Less if you choose to chat your target up and then get them drunk, rather than paying for the reliable route. Anthony's probably brought half his high school pets here, all the little girls so excited to be sneaking their way into an adult place like this.

The beer costs more than the atmosphere can justify. I track down a table against the back wall, as close to dark and quiet as I can find in this place. I'm stuck between a table full of frat boys (already drunk) and a table with a groping couple (her hand down the front of his pants). Maybe I should have stayed at home with my books. There's a distinct lack of flashing lights and groping in Jane Austen's novels. I consider this a sensible artistic choice.

Anthony appears just as I've finished the first beer and I'm trying to decide if it's worth fighting through the crowd for another one yet. "Leah! Meet Vic." The woman on his arm is gorgeous by human standards, long black hair and green eyes. The lines not entirely hidden by the makeup say she's ten years older than she'd like people to think. "Vic, this is my friend John's little sister."

"So pleased to meet you," she says, holding out a hand. I shake to make the Impudite happy. Her nails have been manicured and polished, perfectly even and coated in a clear gloss polish. "How're you liking the place tonight?"

"Oh, it's great," I say. The bartender nearest us watches the woman while he mixes a drink. It's not attraction in his eyes. "You must be proud of the place."

Vic laughs, and gives Anthony a playful punch in the arm. I'm suspicious of her already. "You told her, didn't you!" She lowers her voice and leans in towards me, trying to have a just-girls moment. "I can't get an honest opinion from anyone if they know I'm the owner. They all want to spare my feelings. Kind, but inconvenient."

"You can count on me to tell the truth," I say. "It's pricier than where I usually drink, but people are paying for the atmosphere, right?"

She takes a seat at the table to one side of me, while Anthony takes the other. "People like to pay the high prices," she says, still in a faux whisper loud enough to carry over the music. "It makes them feel important. But there's no need for a friend of Tony's to pay these prices. Let me get you something. What kind of drink would you like?"

"I'm happy with beer." I'd be happier out of here. Too late to change my mind now. For a smart guy, I spend a lot of time getting talked into situations I regret. "Don't worry about it."

"Beer's cheap," says the woman, with a one-handed wave of dismissal for all things inexpensive. The tiny earrings she wears are certainly real diamonds. And she doesn't know from beer, if she thinks it's all cheap. What I would give for a bottle of Art of Darkness. "What do you like? We have a full bar here. I can get you a whiskey older than you are, if that's your style."

"No whiskey," I say. "My ex was enamored of it, and I've had more than enough to last me for a lifetime."

Vic clucks her tongue. "He was a silly boy to force it on you. You don't learn to love something by being coerced."

"She was a right bitch, between you and me. All else being equal, I'll stick to beer."

There's a glint I don't like in the woman's eyes. She puts four slim fingers on Anthony's wrist. "Tony, would you be a dear and get us drinks? Tell the bartender they're for me."

"Certainly." He stands up, kisses her on the cheek in passing. "I'll be right back." Then leaves me to this human I don't like in the slightest. I get the feeling he'll be taking his time with the drinks.

Maybe human. Wouldn't he tell me if she weren't? Not if he's messing with me.

"He likes you." Vic puts a hand over mine. "I can tell."

I shrug. It's taking willpower not to yank my hand away from her. "From what my brother tells me, he likes anything female and breathing. And he might not be picky about getting both at once."

"Oh, boys like Tony get around," she says. "It's to be expected. Girls like you and I do too, in our own ways." It's you and _me_ in that sentence construction. I'm not impressed by this woman. "But I think he really likes you, in a way the little girls he plays with can't match."

"He likes the challenge. If I showed any interest, he'd find someone else to chase." I curl my fingers under my palm. Not quite a fist.

She looks down at me, her hand resting on mine. "Are you uninterested in Tony, or uninterested in boys?"

There's no good answer to that question. "I'd find it weird to get involved with a friend of my brother's."

"Does your brother have to know about his little sister's sex life? Maybe it's time for him to stop protecting you."

The idea of keeping this from Zhune is ludicrous. We've already had our talk about keeping secrets from partners. "He'd find out."

"You should try living your life outside of big brother's shadow," Vic says. "You might find it freeing." And looks up to smile brightly as the Impudite appears with two mugs of beer and a martini glass. "Tony, you're a darling."

"You offer me free drinks, and thank me for picking them up? You give me too much credit." He sits down beside me again, a beer for each of us and a martini for the human. "Leah, you want to dance?"

"I don't dance." An Impudite must find the chance to press against dozens of giddy humans in turn attractive, but I don't. "If you two want to, go for it. I can hold the table."

Anthony's working his way through his beer at the pace of a man who can hold several of them before feeling any effects. "What, are you afraid you might enjoy it?"

"Don't press," says the woman, finally taking her hand off mine to rest it on Anthony's arm. "Trying to make a girl have fun is the fastest way to spoil the mood. I'll take you for a spin, and then we can see what people would like to do." She takes a sip from her martini, stands up. "Leah, let me know if you find the main room too loud. There are quieter areas elsewhere if you'd like to take a break."

I'm sure there are. I smile until their backs are turned, then get back to my beer.

Five minutes later, I'm two beers down and nearly buzzed enough to relax. From my table I can watch the people coming in from the stairs, in all their combinations of smug and nervous and wired. There's a boy my apparent age dressed in clothing rattier than mine, part of an edgy, bright-eyed group that's already on some drug harder than caffeine. A few couples, men by themselves, women in small packs. The temperature rises people pack into the club.

One couple clogs the entrance, arguing with the bouncer. They're dressed more for the office than for a club, the man silent while the woman speaks rapidly to the bouncer holding them up. She pauses for a moment in her argument, the bouncer still trying to gesture them away without resorting to force yet. Then she speaks quietly to the man in their way, and he's nodding, stepping aside to let them in.

It might be a verbal cover for a bribe being passed along, but it doesn't _look_ like one. Nor do they act like a couple trying to have a good time once inside. I haven't been with Theft for all that long, but my cop sense is blaring sirens at me as they work their way through the room. I know a search pattern when I see one. They're subtle enough that I wouldn't have noticed it glancing by, but now that my attention's on them, I can see how they're checking the faces of people as they pass. Looking for someone specific.

It's paranoia that makes me wonder if they're after me. I haven't had the Game on my tail since I spent a year in the Marches, Judgment can't track me anymore, Fire and the War have deemed me unimportant, War would track me directly and jump me when I wasn't expecting it. (On reflection, I've annoyed a fair number of Words over the years.) But they're probably not looking for me. Even if they are, they probably don't know what this vessel looks like.

I'm not fond of trusting my safety to _probably_.

There are enough active humans here that I don't have to worry about drawing attention to myself by moving. Sitting still, on the other hand, is an excellent way to have them reach me and settle the question of whether or not I'm their target. If I disappear, Anthony will figure I got bored and went home. This would be an excellent time for Zhune to reappear. Pity he's still on his way out of town, not even far enough to turn around and come back.

I leave the empty drinks on the table for someone else to clean up, push my way towards the halls in the back where the restrooms are located. No reason for my movement in that direction to look out of the ordinary, and if that pair is working the room from front to back, the back will give me the most time. Clubs always have back doors, don't they? Throw together a generic story about ducking an ex-boyfriend, and I can get an employee to point me towards an exit. The condo's in easy walking distance. I should've been paying more attention to the route on the drive, instead of pondering Impudites and sorcerers. Zhune would scold me for being unobservant. A Magpie can't afford to ignore his surroundings.

One of the drunk frat boys lurches up in my wake as I pass their table. When I reach the hall entrance, he's right behind me. I can smell the cheap beer--as cheap as this place gets--on his breath. He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, baby, can I get you a drink?"

Exhibit A in the case for why I won't have sex with humans. It's not so much a moral stance as the part where they're stupid. I shove his hand off my shoulder without turning around. "If I wanted a drink, I'd be at the bar, not looking for the restrooms."

"I can show you where the bathroom is," says the twit, who's not only stupid but persistently so. He hurries forward to try to walk beside me through the hallway. If he follows me through the door marked as the restroom for women, I'm going to break his fingers. "Or one of the _other_ rooms. We could, you know." He makes a gesture so clumsy gremlins of Lust would be embarrassed to use it in public.

"Fuck off."

The frat boy plants himself in front of me, blocking the narrow hallway. "God, who made you such a frigid bitch? You a dyke or something?"

Behold the debate skills of your average college student, male human variety. I didn't find this entertaining back when I was in college, and at the time I had a male vessel that didn't suffer this attention. "Look, dick for brains, if my standards were low enough to include you, I could have skipped the club and visited a pet shop." He stares blankly at me, face starting to squish together as he realizes I'm insulting him. "I don't date outside my species. If you're that hard up for a ride, fuck one of the other morons at your table."

I try to move past him to the left, and my head collides with the wall. "Bitch," he snarls. 

Touchy, touchy. And that _hurt_. I may not be a powerhouse like Zhune on the corporeal, but I can match that. I slam my fist into his nose hard enough that I can hear the crack. Hook a foot behind his and yank him down to the ground while he's clutching at his face, drop down on his chest, and I shove a hand against his throat. "Don't you know better than to hit a girl?" I squeeze, and throw out a burst of my resonance. The first punch was enough to send disturbance rattling past me. Not much, but it doesn't have to travel far to get to the wrong people. The human below me coughs, eyes wide. "Go home, little boy, before you get hurt." 

He gurgles. I can't tell if he's trying to insult me, apologize, or breathe. Not my problem. I stand up, kick him in the side for good measure, though not hard enough to cause any real damage. This was stupid of me. Disturbance is exactly what I _don't_ want right now. Time to get back into the crowd before someone checks this area.

I pause just past the doorway, scanning the dancers. The pair I spotted earlier are trying to make their way towards the back of the club, faster than can be excused as casual movement, the man shoving people out of their way as needed. Not good.

Then Anthony's at my side, nearly as fast and quiet as Zhune could get here. I need to work on watching my surroundings. "Leah? What happened?" 

Vic's a few steps behind him, enough space for me to talk fast without being overheard. "Some monkey tried to jump me. I explained why this was a bad idea." And because he's looking worried now, "You would have _heard_ if I killed him." I retreat into the quieter hall. They're going to watch the doorway for anyone coming out looking like they've been through a fight, and my natural state of being is looking like I've just been through a fight. "He's lucky I decided to let him off easy."

Anthony folds his arms as he looks down at the man on the floor, who's trying to pull his way back up on hands and feet. "Oh, for pity's sake..." He looks back to me. "Your brother told me you couldn't take care of yourself. He was wrong."

I touch the spot on my face where I hit the wall. That's going to bruise. "He meant compared to him." Vic trots into the hall, the clack of her heels on the tile barely audible under the music from the next room. "If my brother were here, this moron would be dealing with a lot more than a lucky shot to the face."

"If John were here, we'd be trying to hide a corpse," Anthony mutters.

"I'll have him thrown out," Vic says. She puts a hand to my face before I can pull away gracefully. "Oh, darling, that looks painful. Let's get you to a quieter room with some ice and a place to sit down. Anthony, would you take her to my room upstairs? The one by the office."

Ordinarily, I'd object. Right now, two people of unknown affiliation are heading this way. Whoever they're seeking, I don't want them to find me. "Thanks." And because I'd like to retain a shred of dignity, "It's nothing much."

Anthony takes me to a door in the back concealing another staircase, this one narrower than the entrance and with no decoration. "He's right. You do get into trouble if left alone for more than ten minutes."

"You call that trouble? I've taken more damage from a friendly encounter with my last girlfriend." Come to think of it, that says more about Regan than it does about the man on the floor. "Anyone else in the neighborhood likely to have heard that? I was trying not to make noise."

"Not anyone I know. Doesn't mean there isn't anyone." Anthony glances down the stairs behind me before continuing, in a lower voice, "There wasn't enough noise to reach far. No further than the club itself. But you couldn't have tried to talk it out?"

"He hit first. Contrary to what people might believe, I'm not in the habit of beating people up before they get violent." My face hurts. Annoying. "Except for people who park their cars across two spaces. That always bugs me. If you can't fit your car into a single parking space, your car is too big. Exceptions made for bus drivers and ambulance crews."

"See if you can stay out of fights for the rest of the night, would you? Next time someone's harassing you, tell me."

"Despite the appearance, I don't need protection, Anthony. Not against someone like him." Not from someone like you.

Two floors up, we reach bland office-style hallway. I'm almost disappointed. Anthony leads the way through an office to a room that looks like what I was expecting. Multiple couches, thick rugs, a small refrigerator and bar next to a table. Drawn curtains suggest a hidden window, at the right angle to look over the neighborhood. It's not exactly a penthouse suite below the hottest skyscraper-topping club of the city, but it has the look of the place where one would entertain the local big shots.

Anthony points me at a couch while he searches through the fridge. "Anything else hurt beyond your face?"

"Only my pride. Bastard hit me when I wasn't looking." The couch tries to swallow me when I sit on it. "Sorry to interrupt your evening."

Vic sweeps into the room, brushing her hands against each other. "The drunk has been deposited outside, with notice that if he complain we'll call the police on him for assault and trespassing." She drops down onto the couch beside me, too close. "I'm so sorry about this, Leah. I'll speak with security later. They shouldn't have let him get that far. They're careless because it's early in the evening."

"Hey, it's no big deal. He lost his temper, I let him know that was a bad idea. The exchange took less than a minute." Her fingers brush against my cheek again. It figures that the Impudite would hang out with the touchy-feely humans. "Seriously, I'm fine."

Anthony hands Vic an ice pack, which she then tries to hold up to my face until I pull the pack away to hold there myself. It's a _bruise_. This is getting ridiculous. "Your brother is going to kill me," he says, and sits down on the arm of the couch such that I'm surrounded again. "It was nice knowing you both."

"He's not going to kill you. He's--" My partner, who's seen me take worse damage than this before. A Djinn, who's not supposed to care about his attuned. Clingy as hell, and prone to getting his revenge in subtle ways. "He's not going to hold it against you," I finish, weakly. "You weren't expected to escort me to the restroom and defend my honor against ruffians."

"Perhaps you should stay here a little longer." Vic takes my free hand between both of hers, and if I didn't have two beers in me and instructions to keep quiet there'd be another human getting punched tonight. "You can tell him what happened in the morning, when he's not liable to take things the wrong way."

"I can take you home if you want," Anthony says. He's not touching me yet, and there's an odd tone to his voice. It takes me a moment to parse: not an assumption of weakness on my part, but an offer to give me a graceful exit from this situation. A Servitor of Lust, offering me a polite way to say no. How strange.

I'd take him up on that in an instant if it weren't for the two people downstairs looking for the source of the disturbance. Probably not looking for me, probably already gone, but I can't chance that they're watching the exits and know what I look like. Give them a few hours to check the club and immediate areas, and they'll decide whoever made the noise slipped away. It would also put Zhune much closer to back. "No, that's okay." I switch on a perky smile of the kind I've seen Zhune's conquests use. It feels weird on my face. "I'm not going to let him ruin my night. I'll just stay away from the noise until I've regained my bearings."

"Good," says Vic. "Don't let the little boys who can't play nice spoil things for you." She stands up, brushes another kiss on Anthony's cheek. "Tony, you know where everything is. I need to go deal with business, but I'll be back. We can chat up here with drinks just as well as downstairs, can't we?" She blows me a kiss on the way out the door. Creepy.

The Impudite moves to another couch once she's gone. "Look on the bright side. It's more exciting than watching television, isn't it?"

"For annoying values of exciting, sure." I stretch out across the entire couch. "You're sure she's not a Lilim?"

"Vic? Pretty sure. I've Charmed and drained her a few times. I could buy deep cover as a reason for not saying anything, but not for being unable to resist." He fiddles with his collar, watching me. "How are you doing? You look on edge. Something wrong?"

Nothing I'm willing to mention to him. This is Zhune's friend, not mine, and he might throw me to the Game if that's who's downstairs. "I'm in a Dorothy Parker mood."

"The poet?"

I drop an elbow over my face, my dirty shoes propped on expensive fabric. "I wish I could drink like a lady. I can take one or two at the most. Three and I'm under the table, four and I'm under the host."

Anthony laughs. "It would be entertainment, wouldn't it? Your kind gets bored so easily. I could give you something to do."

I'm going to regret this. Having sex with any demon of Lust is a bad idea to begin with, doubly so when it's on his terms. And that's not even accounting for what Zhune might do if he decides to go for the clingy rather than apathetic part of being a Djinn. "It's how long until Zhune gets back?"

"Hours, at least." The Impudite opens the fridge again. "So. Ready for a third beer?"

"Please."


	4. An Interlude, In Which I Am Not Awake For Some Of This

Zhune picked the lock on the door for practice, not out of any sense of pride. It was sensible to keep one's skills fresh and sharp, even skills one had used for centuries. He stepped inside quietly for the same reason, though also because one could sometimes come across interesting conversations that way.

This time, there were no conversations. Anthony sat at the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of him, his back to the door. No sign of Leo, in the kitchen or living room. Zhune waited until he was behind the Impudite's chair before speaking. "Grading papers?"

"Got it in one." Anthony knew him too well to be entirely startled, though the well-covered twitch showed Zhune the entrance had been as quiet as he intended. "Why they want me to give written tests for physical education, I'll never understand."

Zhune took a seat across the table. "How did the evening go?" He watched the Impudite's hands, a better sign than the eyes of what wasn't being said.

"As expected. Took her out drinking, hauled her back to the car around two in the morning when she passed out. She cheers up remarkably four beers into the night."

The Impudite's right hand said nothing, but his left hand said there was more to the story, skittering across a page. Zhune reached out to the refrigerator without leaving his seat, and didn't look at the other demon. "That's all?"

"She left a human who tried to grope her bleeding on the floor. Does she do that often?" Anthony left his grading to pull a beer out of the open fridge.

"Occasionally. Sometimes they back off first. She gives one warning." Zhune followed the Impudite into the living room. "That's all?"

"It was a trip to a nightclub, not a break-in. There's not much to say. We came, we drank, we screwed, we went home. The bruises aren't my fault. I mentioned the incident with the human." Anthony slouched against the wall, near the door. As if he might need an abrupt exit.

Foolish Impudite. Zhune knew who was faster.

"Was the screwing before or after she passed out?" Zhune asked, and did his own slouching, though he chose the door for it.

"What do you take me for?" Anthony waited a beat before continuing. "Four drinks in, but she was still conscious. Looks like you were wrong. If she doesn't like Lust, she didn't say anything about it."

Zhune didn't find a suitable response available to him, and only waited. Impudites could seldom hold their tongues in a long silence.

"You should've brought her in when you were borrowing Jessica," Anthony said. "Four can be better than three. The vessel's cute, and she's a sweet lay, if prone to wiggling. There were a few times in there I would have paid well for handcuffs a Calabite couldn't resonate through. I knew a Calabite once who was into bondage. Never saw the point of using restraints he could get out of at will, but everyone has a few kinks." He drank beer, and then smiled at the Djinn. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

"Why should I be? She's my partner, not my pet. She can fuck whoever she wants." Zhune examined his bottle. "You're not trying to steal her."

"Much as it would be entertaining to have someone else from the same Word in the neighborhood, that I'm not." Anthony smiled in a toothier manner, with a gesture towards the closed bedroom door. "Now, borrowing her, that I'd be happy to do. Or sharing. I'm a generous person. I have no problem with sharing."

"I'll keep that in mind," Zhune said. He smiled back, because he knew how the other demon would take it. "Why do you assume I would react like a human? You should know better."

"I have a female vessel," said Anthony. "If you're still unreasonable on that point. It's been less than three days, and you're both showing stress from staying in one place. There's only so much I can offer to keep you entertained, and you know what that is."

"We'll manage," Zhune said. He left the Impudite to step into the bedroom and check on his attuned.

Anthony had cleaned up since the Djinn was in there last, the bed tidied up with fresh sheets. Clothing lay in a heap near the door to the bathroom, nothing he recognized. More familiar was the Calabite curled up on the bedspread, one arm resting over the knees pulled up towards her chest.

Zhune closed the door behind him, then sat down on the bed. Her hair lay damp beneath his fingers. So the Impudite had possessed enough sense to prevent himself from being confronted with a hungover, sticky, irate Calabite in the morning. A sensible demon would have forced water and painkillers down the Destroyer's throat before letting her fall over.

But then, a sensible Impudite would have known better than to meddle with a Djinn's attuned while said Djinn wasn't there to direct matters. Zhune frowned to himself in the dark, and pulled Leo up onto his lap. This hadn't seemed likely. Misplays would happen, there was no helping that, but they were always unsettling until he could work out what he'd misinterpreted.

The Calabite shifted in his lap. "Zhune?"

"Who else?"

"Yeah. Figured." She pulled herself away, swaying. "Fuck. My head hurts."

"You should be used to hangovers by now." He passed her the bottle, half the contents still there. "That might help."

The Calabite managed to down the beer with minimal help. "Ow. Right. We need to talk."

"If it's about Anthony--"

"No, not _that_. That's just..." She slid off the bed, unsteady on her feet. "Stuff. Not relevant. Okay, peripherally relevant. You got a car, or do we need to steal another one? And where are my _shoes_?"

"Try under the bed." Zhune switched on a table lamp. "Does that help?"

"Sure, loads of help. Now I can see. Except for the part where it's making my head throb." She dug under the bed, then tried the clothing by the bathroom door. "When did I get back into my own clothes?"

"I imagine it happened after the shower, but before you passed out on the bed."

"Oh." Leo pulled on boots he didn't recognize, sat on the floor a moment longer with her head resting on her knees.. "I'm going to need a hand up."

Zhune provided one. "Has it ever occurred to you that you might have a drinking problem?"

The Calabite clung to him for support. "Of course I have a drinking problem. Binge drinker, that's me. Covered that in the chapter on addictions. Not quite the same as alcoholism, because being celestial, I can't get the long-term physical addiction. You don't get to complain until you stop encouraging me."

"If you say so." Zhune led his partner out through the living room, ignored the whimper at his side at the onset of bright lights. "We'll be back in an hour or two."

"Have fun," said the Impudite, back to grading papers.

Bundling a Calabite who couldn't walk straight into the passenger seat took longer than expected. "I don't _like_ SUVs," Leo muttered.

Zhune slammed the door, moved towards the other door at an undignified pace to get inside and start the car before his partner could climb back out. Surely James Bond never had to put up with this sort of thing. "I know, Leo. If we weren't keeping quiet, I'd let you blow it up. But for the moment, let's focus on the situation at hand."

"Park it on the railroad tracks," Leo said, fumbling with her seat belt. Even through her drunken slur, she spoke with the clinical detachment she used when summarizing a new plan for his approval. "Drive it far enough along the tracks that it's not in the way of people driving along the road, or they might notice and call it in. Works best at night. Leave the car there, find another one. When the train hits, shouldn't be any disturbance. Not unless there's an Ofanite driving the train. One fuel inefficient car disposed of, no evidence remaining to track to you. More satisfying if there's a camera to record the event, but we can't have everything."

"If you'll steal the replacement car to get back, it's a deal," Zhune said. "You need the practice. Now what did you want to talk to me about?"

Leo sat quietly for a moment, her fingers pulling at the belt on her lap. He knew the meaning in her hands. Working out how much of the story she would tell him, and how to manipulate him for the reaction she wanted. "In the club, there was a couple looking for someone. I'm not sure who. They were trying to stay quiet, but searching the place. When I hit the human, they came towards the disturbance. Possibly Aware mortals, but I wouldn't bet on it. Paranoia says they're after me, sense tells me it's more likely our contact."

It was worth waiting for the explanation, with Leo. Zhune took the car in a spiral, pulling further and further away from the place they'd need to return to. Even with a trip to the nearest major city and back so fresh in his memory, it felt wrong to return a place he'd just been. "Any idea on Word? Band or Choir?"

"If they're after our contact, probably the Game, their old Word being another possibility. Not that it helps us when no one will tell us what that Word _was_. If they're after me? Judgment, the Game, War, the War, outside chance of a few others." She was quiet for a moment. "Either way, they didn't have more than a general location. No sign they were tracking a specific pull."

"Posit Judgment. Choirs?"

"Malakite or Cherub, and...not Seraph, or she wouldn't have been the one doing the talking. Mm. Maybe Seraph. Didn't see a third, which could be Kyriotate, though a Kyrio could have worked them into the club faster. Or a third watching the exits outside."

"And if they're Game?"

"Djinn, or Calabite. Outside chance of a blunter Habbalite. Looked too neat for a Calabite, but it was at a distance in bad lighting. The woman would be Balseraph as first choice, Impudite or Habbalite otherwise. Talking a human into her way of thinking fast."

Too little information to work on. Zhune frowned, a mild expression his partner would interpret correctly. "What did they look like?"

"Bad lighting, across the room. I didn't get much."

Zhune took a hand off the wheel to smack the Calabite on the arm, not hard enough to bruise. Not hard enough for dissonance. He'd learned the razor-sharp edge between harassing and damaging his attuned before Theft was a Prince. "Pay attention, Leo. Neither of us can afford to be unobservant. We know when to move because we see what's happening. What did they look like?"

Leo sighed irritably. "The woman was tall, thin, angular sort of face. Not starving model thin, but close to it. Her hair was pulled back tight, not blonde, I can't be sure from that lighting. Caucasian or light-skinned Hispanic. High cheekbones. Not quite in a business suit, but wore her clothing as if it was one. The man was slightly taller, heavily built, practically screamed bruiser. Followed her like a bodyguard, broke the way through the crowd when they were trying to follow the disturbance. Lighter hair than hers, brown or blond. Pale skin. A flat face. I don't know, Zhune, I'm not good at these kinds of details. Ask me about the building layout and whether the back staircase is up to code, I can give you real data."

"Did you tell Anthony about this?"

"Are you kidding? If it's the Game, he'd throw me in their path to distract them from his pet sorcerer."

Zhune smiled, sharp and confident as he felt. "He wouldn't. He's not as clever as he thinks he is, but he knows what I'd do to him if he let the Game steal my partner."

"So you say. I'm less certain. Besides, there's always the chance it wasn't the Game, and I wasn't up for a round of explaining all the different Words who might want to jump me." Leo waved it away. "So, no, I didn't tell him. Especially while he was hanging around with the owner of the club. He says she's human, I have my doubts. Spent a few hours getting drunk with the two of them in a private room while I waited for the unknowns downstairs to clear out."

"That long stuck in a room with nothing but alcohol to entertain you?" It was a necessary cruelty, to push. He could have let her ignore the issue as she wanted to, but it would encourage her to drop details later when he might not have the full story. Zhune waited for her answer. It had taken a few months to work out the best strategies. An order might get a complete refusal, or grudging acceptance that would twist around later. Questions always got results eventually. Bargains got the best results, if she could be convinced to accept them. Like working with a Lilim again.

"Enough alcohol to not protest when they switched to sex." She opened the glove box to rifle through the contents, refusing to look at him. As expected. "I couldn't go back downstairs without risking an encounter with the other two, I couldn't leave without worrying about a third at the exits, and I'm not so full of sparkling conversation that I can keep an Impudite of Lust entertained with that alone for hours. Why, did you think I'd have sex with him without a damn good reason?"

"Not particularly," Zhune said. Not a misplay on his part, or even a misunderstanding, but the influence of events outside his control. "He doesn't seem like your type."

"You're not my type either," Leo muttered. She shoved the glove box shut. "Any railroad tracks in the area?"

It was a moment's temptation, to show her how she was wrong. Only a moment, a thought Zhune filed away to make use of another time. Throwing away hard-earned progress to satisfy a desire was never the right choice. "I passed some on the way in. We can swing by without being out of the area long. Are you sober enough to steal a car without setting off an alarm and waking up the block?"

Leo gave this serious thought. "Maybe. You up for running if I can't?"

"Sure."

"Then I'm sober enough. Let's find train tracks. There's nothing like gratuitous destruction for curing hangovers ."

"If I have to drag you away from danger, you'll owe me."

Leo yawned, stretching her arms above her to bump into the car's ceiling. "That's fair."


	5. In Which I Speak With Various People I'd Rather Not

Driving alone makes me twitchy. Zhune would say everything makes me twitchy, except occasionally the things that should, and be not far from right, but driving alone, that sets all my nerves on edge. I've spent my entire time serving Theft, aside from the first week when my Prince had better things to do than pick out babysitters, working beside the Djinn. So when I drive alone, it's my time as a Renegade that springs to mind. Wondering if the Game or the War will catch my first, and trying to decide which would be worse.

It doesn't make for a comfortable trip.

Half a mile from Anthony's condo, the light drizzle finally changes its mind and turns into a deluge. I leave the car two blocks from the complex, and walk the rest of the way in rain heavy enough to kill visibility.

The elevator's out of service again. I trudge up all four floors with my hand on the railing because the stairs are slick when wet. At the third floor I'm tempted to show up on Alice's doorstep to see if she wants to provide more cookies and conversation, but Zhune would come looking to see why I was downstairs, and I'm not in the mood to get hauled away by my partner.

They've locked the door. I fix that in under twenty seconds. Theft's Calabite attunement may not be as much fun as Fire's, but it's useful. I drip my way across Anthony's nice white rug and consider the closed bedroom door. On the one hand, I'd like a shower and dry clothing. On the other, the noises coming from behind that door suggest I don't want to walk in. Maybe if I tried not to look at the bed on my way through.

I give up and collapse on the couch. Zhune will be out eventually to do the Djinn "I'm not actually concerned about your condition" look-over while pretending he wants a beer, and if Anthony doesn't want his furniture getting damp, he can find a condo that doesn't put the shower on the far side of the bedroom. After hours of driving just to turn around and drive right back, all for the sake of a dissonance condition I never asked for, there's something to be said for holding still.

When the door finally opens, it's Jessica who steps out, wearing nothing but a towel. The idiot human's distracted enough by whatever occupies her brain that she nearly sits on me before she notices I'm there. The squeak would be more satisfying if I were doing anything to produce it but glaring up at her from the couch.

"Sorry! Sorry. I mean. Sorry. Um. I didn't think you were--I mean, your boyfriend said you were out, and--" She waves her hands around her, and the towel slips right off. Her complexion is pale enough that she really _does_ turn red all over when she blushes. "Oh my God."

I walk to the kitchen, and grab two bottles of beer. "Sit down and stop gibbering. Like I haven't seen a naked woman before." Because I don't know how clued-in she is--not very, if Anthony's like most Impudites with his pets--I remove the caps the ordinary way. "I don't care who you're having sex with, but I don't want to hear about it."

She sits on the couch with the towel clutched up at her chest. "Um. Right. Sorry." And takes the beer I offer her as if she doesn't know what to do with it. A high school kid who's having sex with her coach can't be so sheltered she doesn't drink, can she?

A flash of disturbance from the bedroom; I'm close enough to tell it's a vessel being swapped. And then the creaking of bedsprings starts up. So Zhune and Anthony are keeping each other distracted without a human in the mix. Great. At this rate, I might not see either of them until this evening. I drop down onto the couch beside Jessica, who's turning red again. "Don't they ever get _bored_ of this?"

"I don't know," she says, one hand twisting through her hair. "Don't you think it's sort of hot, two guys who look like that when they're, you know..."

"Screwing? Fucking? Having sex? Fornicating? Going at it like rabid weasels?" I slouch into my corner of the couch with the beer. "If you can't say it, you're not mature enough to be doing it."

"You don't have to act so _superior_." Jessica tries to take a hefty swig from her bottle. Her expression says she's not used to the taste of beer. "I mean, just because you're not, not having sex, it doesn't make you better or anything."

"It's not my sex life we're talking about." I'm bored with the conversation already. I got better dialogue out of Holly, and Holly was a sweet, clueless dingbat. I stand up again, leaving my beer on the coffee table. "I need a shower. I'm sure you can keep yourself entertained."

"You can't walk in there while they're--they're--"

I'm not sure she's going to get the word out. "Says who? If I'm distracting, one of them isn't doing it right." I step into the bedroom and slam the door behind me.

Anthony's female vessel is, predictably, culturally-approved gorgeous. Not my style; if I'm going to find anything human-shaped attractive, it's the Balseraph vessels, tall and elegant with long fingers. Zhune glances at me as I step inside, doesn't slow down. I think he's making a point about something to the Impudite. "Raining out?"

"You noticed." I strip off the wet shirt and pants, find the outfit I wore to the club on the floor in one of the closets. Without the stupid accessories, it'll suffice. "Are you going to be long? I'm thinking of ordering pizza for the novelty value, and maybe we shouldn't have the naked high school girl standing in the living room when the delivery arrives."

"Ask the delivery boy to come in," Anthony gasps, from under Zhune. "I'm a good tipper."

"Not dreadfully long," Zhune says. He smiles at me, the suave James Bond version. "You don't want to join in? No humans involved."

"Thanks, but no thanks." I'd ordinarily protest that I don't do threesomes. After last night, that's unconvincing. Maybe I don't want to take a shower just now; who knows what I'd see walking out of the bathroom? I pull on the dry clothing, while the demons on the bed go back to what they were doing.

Jessica's still sitting on the couch when I get back to the living room, staring at her bottle of beer. "I can't believe you just walked in," she says indignantly. "I mean, don't you think your boyfriend should get some privacy?"

"He's not my boyfriend." I take the armchair this time, slouch down with my beer. "He's my brother."

"And you walked in while he was _having sex_? That is so wrong."

"You draw your moral lines in weird places, Jessie."

"I'm not the one watching my brother while he's naked."

"I'm not the one screwing someone twice my age and in a position of authority over me." Though now that I consider my phrasing...

Zhune is more than twice my age or even twenty times, and the matter of who's in charge of our dramatic duo changes depending on the circumstances. Not the same thing.

"You just don't understand," she says, pouting like the little girl she is. Stupid monkey. As if she's different from any other oversexed teenager Anthony's picked out of his classes before.

"I understand perfectly." My beer's turning warm on me. "You feel so mature for handling a relationship with an adult. None of the boys your own age can compare to someone as sensitive, as intelligent, as confident, as experienced as this man. There's the thrill of doing what you're sure no one else would approve of. It feels like a special secret between the two of you, that you have this connection you can't admit to. There's the rush of power because you know something that could cost him his job if you told anyone. All those other girls in your class, playing at their relationships with high school boys, while you have the real thing. You've jumped out of childhood to the adult world, and no one who hasn't done the same could possibly understand where you've arrived."

"Now you're just making fun of me." Effectively, by the strain in her voice.

"Really? Look at it this way. What kind of grown man finds high school girls more interesting than women his own age?" No need to mention that he has plenty of the latter as well, in those hours past her curfew. "You think that he doesn't get off on the power difference in your positions? Or the way he knows more than you do, and can talk you into doing whatever he wants?" I gesture towards her with my bottle. "Face it, Jessie baby, in this power relationship, you're always on the bottom. If that doesn't bother you, it's your life to throw at his feet. If you're not going to drink that, pass it over to someone who will."

"You are such a bitch," she says, and doesn't give up her beer.

"What, because I tell you the truth?" She doesn't get it, whether from stupidity or sheer denial. "I'm not your competition, Jessie, but I've been there, done that, got the T-shirt. It's age appropriate for you to believe that it's somehow different for you than it was for anyone else, but you're not doing anything new."

Jessica isn't any good at glaring; she's aiming for fierce, and falling well short into petulant. "So just because it didn't work out for you once, you're trying to be all condescending and shit?"

"No, I'm condescending because you're acting your shoe size, not your age." I lean across the coffee table to yank the beer out of her hand, as mine's gone. "I've never kept another person from screwing up her own life, because watching people melt down while they deny all their problems come from their own mistakes can be funny." That's a lie, if I think about Nik. I never think about Nik anymore. "But right now I'm bored, so I figured I'd give you enough information about what you're doing wrong that if we meet years from now, I can laugh at your misfortune with the knowledge that you had a chance to choose differently." I grin at her, and raise the beer. "Cheers."

She's left sputtering long enough for me to dig up one of the library books and settle down to read. By the time she's back to coherent insults, I'm more interested in reading about the Dashwood sisters for the hundredth time. She turns on the television when she realizes I'm not listening to her. As if a human would have anything interesting to say.

At chapter thirty, just as Mrs. Jennings has appeared to ask after the little romantic idiot Marianne, I hear vessels being swapped again in the other room. The bedroom door opens as Colonel Brandon is being his honorable, stuffy self. No one in a Jane Austen novel says anything in a direct manner, and the worst a character ever suffers on the page is heartbreak. Even deaths happen gently out of view. Anthony moves straight for his pet, while Zhune takes a path to the fridge that somehow passes right by me without seeming roundabout. 

"You two girls getting along?" Anthony asks, pulling Jessica onto his lap. Does she not notice how patronizing that movement is? I noticed this shit less before I got the female vessel.

"Just fine," she chirps too brightly. Her gaze keeps flickering between the two men and me. "Hey, want to get pizza? We could order in and grab a movie or something."

Zhune pulls aside a curtain to watch the street outside from the one window in the room. "You should go home," he says, letting the curtain drop. "If you stay out too late, your parents might worry."

She stares up at him. "But it's not very late. I told them I was at a friend's house, and Tiff will cover for me--"

"You don't want to press your luck," Zhune says. I mark my place in the book and set it aside. He's being firm, and not bothering to charm. "Go home now. Then they won't wonder if you stay out late next time."

Jessica looks to her teacher, bottom lip starting to quaver. Anthony, who's bright enough to pick up on what Zhune means, kisses her on the forehead, and says, "He has a point, baby. I'll see you at practice on Monday, right?"

"Right," she says. "Sure." She stands up, and goes to get dressed while throwing looks back at them, wide-eyed and hurt.

I take the empty bottles to the trash in the kitchen and pass Zhune on the way. He puts an arm over my shoulders--it could look like a brotherly gesture, if one wanted to read it that way--and murmurs in my ear, "Incoming. That pair." 

Anthony's off helping the girl collect her clothing, out of immediate earshot at this volume. I consider the single exit in this place. "Time to run?"

"No. One's Djinn. Maybe the Game. They'll be watching the exits. Play stupid."

I nod, pull away before the other two can notice the exchange. Play stupid about knowing a potentially dangerous pair was in the area, or play stupid if the Game starts looking at the two of us closely? He probably means both. My instincts say to get out of this place if the Game's coming in, but Zhune has more experience, and I'm not running anywhere without him. I can play dumb Destroyer if it'll take care of this complication.

If we stick around here for two weeks while the Game is in the area, they're going to notice, and we're going to be in trouble. Where's that damn message we're waiting for? I chuck the bottles into the trash compacter, return to see Jessica being escorted out the door by the Impudite. He's turned on the sweet talk adeptly enough that she's no longer looking like a kicked puppy. The instant the door's closed, he glares at Zhune. "This had better be good."

"Have I ever led you wrong?" The Djinn meets up with me between kitchen and living room, pushes me down into a chair. Apparently my preference for running is obvious.

"You brought Henry by for a visit. Does that count?" Anthony takes another chair at the table. "What's so urgent all of a sudden?"

"Call it a feeling," Zhune says. There's a brisk rap on the door, sounding nothing like Jessica come to object to being evicted so hastily. "You might want to answer that."

Anthony snarls under his breath, then goes to answer the door. He's all smiles as he opens it up. "Good afternoon. What's up?"

The woman trying to look like a model flashes a notebook at him in the doorway, her companion stolid and silent behind her. Notebook relic, by the look of it. "Anthony Morton? We were in the neighborhood and wanted to have a few words with you. Is this a bad time?" 

Zhune puts a hand on my shoulder even as I'm about to stand up. He has a point: there's no good way to run. I hunch over the table, trying to look small and inoffensive. It's sadly easy to pull off in this vessel.

"Not at all," Anthony says, pulling the door open further. He steps back inside, not taking his eyes off the Gamesters. Or someone else, pretending to be the Game? Outside chance, and it's not Judgment if Zhune spotted one of them as Djinn. "How can I help you?" That's Lust for you, rolling over to show his throat at the first sign of trouble.

The two of them step inside, the condo all the smaller for their presence. The man at the back--must be the Djinn--looks over each of us in turn, at me for the shortest period of time. A tiny gesture passes from him to the woman; it reminds me of how Judgment triads communicate when they don't want to let on what they're saying. Pointing out that Zhune is Djinn as well. Which leaves me as the one unknown in the room, as I doubt a woman wearing clothing with razor-crisp lines would be a Calabite.

"Our records say you live alone," begins the woman, fingers drumming on one thigh. The Djinn closes the door behind them. "Why don't you introduce me to your friends?" She has a pleasant voice, threat implicit behind the civility. It reminds me of Habbalah I've known, usually right before they turn my brain to goo.

"They're friends visiting from out of town," Anthony begins, and then hesitates, because you never, ever want to be caught between the Game and Theft. Technically they're not allowed to go after us without reason, but what's a technicality to the Game?

The hesitation's long enough to let Zhune speak up. "Wordmates," he says, voice slower and duller than I've heard him use before. "Only passing through." His hand clamps tighter on my shoulder, not that I need the _hint_ to let him speak and keep my own mouth shut. "Breaking in the new kid."

Which would be me. Next time, _I_ get to come up with the cover story.

"Isn't that sweet," says the woman. She stalks forward, grabs my chin with sharp nails pressing against my cheeks, and tilts my head up to look her in the eye. I'm not sure I'm successfully projecting stupid terror when my dominant emotion is rage. "What's your name?"

"Leah," I mumble. Think harmless and helpless, not plans for taking out both of them if Anthony and Zhune would cooperate. The Impudite will throw a fit if we kill Gamesters in his apartment.

She nods encouragingly to me. "And what are you, Leah?"

She hasn't let go of me. I could do some real damage to her if I resonated the floor out from beneath her. Of course, then everything would degenerate into chaos, possibly the kind that leaves me dead at the end. This vessel is tougher than my last one, but that only counts for so much when shot. Besides, it would annoy Zhune. "Calabite," I say, and she pulls her hand away. Okay, I need to find out what the Calabite of Lust attunement is, because I couldn't interpret the haste in that as disgust or caution.

"How long are you going to be in the area, Leah?" There's no reason to direct her questions towards me unless she thinks I'm stupid enough to say what the others wouldn't. Zhune hasn't moved an inch since she came into the room, and now that I can turn my head freely again, I see the Game Djinn staring pointedly at a space above and behind me. So the Stalkers are having a stare-off? Fine by me.

"Dunno." Two weeks might be the wrong answer, depending on how much they know about our deadlines. "Djinn's the one who says where to go when." Right back to you, Zhune.

"I see." Her gaze dismisses me as unimportant, and she looks up at Zhune. Tall as she is, he still has a few inches on her. "Your name?"

"John," he says, after a pause long enough to indicate thought or distraction.

"And how long do you intend to stay in the area, John?"

I can't see him from where I'm sitting, but the shift behind me indicates either a shrug or a blank look. I'm not sure electing Anthony as the person with enough brains to answer questions is a good idea. But maybe letting the Djinn act unusually proactive isn't either.

The woman turns her attention back to the Impudite. "How's work going, Anthony? Running into any problems in your duties that you think we should know about?"

"It's going fine," he says. He's chosen to perch on the back of the couch, out of the direct line of sight when they're both looking at Zhune and me. "No problems recently. The area's been quiet."

"No disturbance?"

Trick question, but I think he knows that. "None that I haven't been able to track the source for," he says. "I switch vessels occasionally, and the Destroyer got into a scuffle with a human last night. We pulled her off the monkey before it got too far." No mention of the sorcerer. We're not the only ones who don't want the Game poking through our business.

"We're looking for someone we have reason to believe is in this area," says the Gamester, attention now on the chatty one. He's welcome to the focus. "Do you know of anyone we should be made aware of who's appeared in the city recently?"

Anthony shakes his head. "I haven't seen anyone unusual. What does this person look like? I could keep an eye out and let you know, if there's a way for me to contact you."

"Nothing of note? How...unusual." The Impudite turns paler under her sharp gaze. "But not unprecedented." She comes up with a gray business card from some pocket, and holds it out to him. "If you should happen to remember any other details you think we might like to be informed of, anything at _all_ , feel free to call." She turns back to Zhune. I'm beneath notice. "We'll be back later to have another talk. I recommend that you not leave the city without letting us know, as we'd hate to think you were involved with any of the less loyal elements under investigation."

"Sure," Zhune says. I don't think he and the other Djinn have broken eye contact since the Game walked in the door. Anthony holds onto the card as if it might yet save him from them.

"And if you see or hear anything unusual?" the woman prompts, still smiling.

"Then Anthony'll let you know," Zhune responds, as blandly as before.

"Good. We wouldn't want this situation to become more complicated." She could have held up a sheet of paper adding "This is a threat" if she wanted to make that a clearer, but she probably expects Anthony to explain the subtleties of the conversation to the rest of us once she's gone. The Djinn moves towards the door first, holding it open for his partner. She gives us one last disgusted sneer under a thin smile. "We'll see you later, then."

Anthony waits three breaths after the door's closed, the smile fixed on his face. Then drops off the couch to stalk over towards us. "What the _fuck_ was all that about?"

Zhune lets go of me to grab a beer. "That was the Game, acting the way they usually act. I thought you encountered them before. Not a long interview, so we're still considered a low-priority lead." I shake my head as he offers me one. Two beers in the space of an hour is enough that I should stop now while I can still think straight. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"Shouldn't be a _problem_?" Anthony's trying to keep his voice down, but I'd say he's not happy about this. "Did you know they were going to show up? You gave them reason to come asking after me! And then you told them you're serving Lust, so once you disappear--"

"So once we disappear, they're not going to be asking you questions about what your friends in Theft were up to," Zhune says calmly. He takes a seat across the table from me. "No, I didn't know they were in the area. Yes, I was aware that our job might be the sort to bring them into the area, but that's always the case for Theft. Did you want to start explaining why you were letting us stay here if I _had_ told them what Word we serve?"

Anthony glares at Zhune. "No," he says. "But now if they stop by and see you here again--"

"Then we're two Servitors of Lust doing the sort of things such demons do," Zhune interrupts. "If they knew we were Theft, and could be convinced to let us be, and then came by in a week and found us still here... Don't you think they might consider that unusual? And want to ask if you hadn't found it unusual, and what kind of story we gave you to explain it, and why you hadn't told them about it? Put some thought into this, Anthony. If I'd answered differently, it might have gone badly for us, but it wouldn't have gone better for you."

"Fine." The Impudite throws his hands up in the air. "Fine, just keep me out of whatever the hell you're doing here, okay? I did not sign up for Game interrogations in this agreement we made."

"The agreements we make are never comprehensive," Zhune says. I know what he's referring to, and it's not the guest arrangements. If he's taking what I did last night personally, that's going to cause problems. But I think the point he made to Anthony in the bedroom half an hour ago covered the issue. "I have no intention of bringing trouble down on you, and I don't expect you'd bring any on me. Once we get word from our contact, we'll disappear, you tell the Game we went back home, and that's the end of it."

"And if they try to check up on your references?" Anthony yanks out a chair to sit at the table with us, and I think it's more fear than anger that has him wound so tight. I can sympathize; running into the Game freaks me too, even if Zhune can be calm. 

Lust responds to threats by rolling over and asking for treats, while I respond to threats by running when I can and making other people regret the chase when I can't. So it's not all that much sympathy.

"They didn't press for true names as opposed to Role names," Zhune says, with a one-shouldered shrug. He passes me his bottle of beer. I resonate the cap, pass it back. "Do you think your organization is going to snap to attention if a Gamester puts in a low priority confirmation request on two Servitors with nothing but a name and Band to go on? It'll disappear into the morass of paperwork, and if three months from now it turns up a none-such reply, they'll have no way of knowing if that was an answer or some imp dropping a form in transit."

Anthony hisses out a held breath, and says, "You sound like you would know." No, he's not willing to push hard against Zhune, less so than I am. Two demons can't share a cab ride without establishing a hierarchy, and three demons in a single-bedroom condo means we're testing our boundaries. Both of us will answer to Zhune if pressed, but if Anthony thinks I'll roll over for him again because it was expedient once, I'll have to convince him otherwise.

Zhune takes a swig of his beer. "Work for Theft as long as I have, and you learn a lot about the Game. Trust me."

"I need to check on Alice before sunset," Anthony says. "Try not to get into any trouble that would pull them back in here while I'm out?"

"We'll manage somehow," Zhune says.


	6. In Which I Can't Read In Peace

The sky's been dark on both sides of dawn from the cloud cover, but by seven in the morning I need to get out of the condo before I kill Anthony, or my partner, or both. No human worth talking to (which is a small subset of humanity already) is awake at this time on a Sunday morning, leaving me at the park on a wet bench with an umbrella and an increasingly tattered copy of _Sense and Sensibility_. Anthony's library account will get charged for the replacement if I keep this book more much longer, and it would serve him right. A demon who can't respect a Calabite's personal space is lucky to get off with as light a response as that.

I wouldn't mind if he'd respect my partner's personal space more, either. From now on, I'd prefer that we stick to Zhune's friends in Theft, who may keep checking my pockets for a nonexistent wallet, but do less surreptitious groping. Or the subtle methods of being too close, even without touching. Curl up on the couch and Anthony's sitting on the other side, too far for me to glare at him but too close for me to be comfortable. In retrospect, the sex was a mistake. I would have been better off playing dumb Lustie and letting the Gamesters track down the disturbance, rather than giving the Impudite reason to believe I was forfeiting my place in the local hierarchy.

I'm used to hierarchies. With Fire, I was on the bottom, but I was new to Earth and expected this. With the War, I was always one step below Regan. And now with Theft... I can't tell. Sure, Zhune's more often in charge between the two of us, due to experience, but when we run into other Magpies on the corporeal, it doesn't seem to matter as much.

Nothing in Hell is equal, but Theft pretends to it sometimes among the Servitors competent enough to get Earth duty but not marked with further distinctions. I could almost like it, if having a Prince weren't such a hassle.

The pigeons are more sensible than I am; they stay out of the drizzle. My pants are soaked up to the knee, but I've arranged the book I'm reading such that it's kept dry. Mostly. If I get distracted when turning a page, the umbrella tilts and sends a shower of drops inward again. Next time we're given a prolonged assignment I'm going to check the local weather patterns on the way in to pick up appropriate clothing.

One pathetic bird with bedraggled feathers hops along the ground towards me. If it wants bread, it's out of luck this morning. I didn't raid Anthony's kitchen to satisfy winged rats. I did check for a pack of cigarettes, on the off chance that he'd have some. No such luck. If the rain lets up, I'll walk to a corner store and buy a pack to run through before Zhune comes looking. I could use the stress relief of watching them burn to ash, but trying to smoke while holding an umbrella and a book is too awkward to bother.

The pigeon tilts its head to peer up at me with one white-ringed glossy eye. Then flutters up to land on my knee. "Fucking rain," it says, shaking its feathers like a dog and splattering my book with water. "Fucking rain that keeps on fucking raining. Do you know I've been checking windows all morning? You ever try sticking your head up against a tenth-story window hoping you won't lose your grip on the fucking dirty windowsill? 'cause I've been doing that and it's getting _old_ girlie I tell you it's getting old."

I close my book carefully, and then grab the pigeon up in one hand. "Girlie?"

The pigeon pecks at my hand. "No offense, babe, but it's the vessel. It's a girl-shaped vessel, girlie you are. You don't like it, take it up with your Prince. You want this fucking message or what? I gotta fly back through all this rain to my boss and tell him you aren't going to take it? What, you think there's more than one talking pigeon in this stinking city?"

"Could be." I let go of the bird, wipe my hand off on my pants. "The Game's been scouting around."

"No shit! Tell me something I don't know! Course they're fucking scouting out the place, like we don't _know_ that. Look, I got told to go find some red-headed chick around here, and you see anyone else? No? So you're the red-headed chick, I'm the talking pigeon, let's do lunch, or how about you take the fucking message before my tiny pigeon brain explodes from holding it?"

"My hair is brown, you idiot." I tap the bird on its beak. "If you want an exploding head, I can help."

"Close enough to red for me." It hops backwards to my knee, trying to keep under the umbrella's shelter. "You want this fucking message or what?"

"Is there anything more to the message than 'I'm here and you should come meet me?'"

The pigeon thinks this over for a moment. "Nah. Not as such. You going to pick up your partner, or try to do the deal without him? Because I was told there were two of you, but if you want to screw someone over, be my guest, baby."

I stand up, tucking the book under one arm. "He'll catch up with me. And if you call me 'baby' again, you're going to demonstrate that having legs isn't necessary for flight."

"Don't be such a bitch," the pigeon says, but does wing hastily away from me to what it considers a safe distance. "Try not to look like you're following me, okay? I mean, don't actually lose me, but try to look like it's just sort of accidental that you're going the same way--"

"I know how to shadow," I say, and tilt the umbrella over my shoulder. "Lead on, bird brain."

"Fucking Destroyers," it mutters, and flies away.

I wander down the street with an occasional glance towards the sky as if I'm looking for a break in the clouds. The pigeon's a pale blot in the sky, nearly invisible in shadows. At the gas station, I stop to buy a pack of cigarettes from an old man who doesn't check my ID. When I step outside, the pigeon's waiting on a gas pump, and flutters away again with an unconcerned air. It's no good at acting, but in a pigeon vessel, it doesn't have to be.

The pause at the convenience store was long enough to give Zhune time to finish whatever he was doing (I'm not going to think about that in detail), check on my location, find me moving, and catch up three blocks from the gas station. He falls into step beside me, looking entirely too handsome in the rain with wet black hair and black leather jacket. "It's not raining that hard," he says to me, and bother to ask who I'm following. If he hasn't picked out the damp bird down the street, he will in a moment. "You really needed an umbrella?"

"Books don't like water. They take it personally, and refuse to open properly if not coddled." I've probably burnt hundreds of books in my time, if not thousands, in one fire or another that I've set, but I have a soft spot for the individual books I'm holding onto when they haven't anyone but me to trust. There's an unfortunate parallel in how I deal with humans. Lucky me that I haven't met any human recently that I liked enough to want to protect.

"Maybe they need tough love. Throw them all in the water, and find out what's legible when you pull them out." Zhune sounds to be in a good mood today, enough so to put me on edge. I can't pinpoint why--sex isn't enough, having the Game sniffing around the edges shouldn't be a mood booster--and I don't like the not knowing.

"If the quality of the writing were related to their construction, I'd consider this plan."

"So it's a plan with a few flaws." Zhune slides under the umbrella, puts an arm over my shoulder and plucks the umbrella out of my hands to hold it over both of us. "I've always thought good books should be bound well."

I'm not in the mood for wordplay. Maybe when I've gone through half the pack tucked inside my jacket. "Let me guess. On the upcoming meeting, I should let you do all the talking."

"You're still upset about last night?"

"I'm not upset."

"I didn't think you'd want to do the talking with the Game at the table."

I grin up at him, all teeth. "You didn't think I _could_. You were probably right. I'm not afraid to step down when I don't have the necessary experience for a situation."

"Experience is gained in the doing," Zhune says. "You do the talking."

"You'll step in if I go too far wrong?"

"You won't," he says. "You're too smart for that. You'll negotiate differently than I would, but I could use the chance to see how you want to play this game. All my habits are old." I've heard it before, but in more private places. The candor on this quiet wet morning comes as a surprise. "They're good habits, but old."

I laugh. "So now the pressure is on me to do something _clever_. Great."

"I'm full of breathless anticipation." Now he's teasing, while the pigeon is out of earshot and there aren't any humans out on the streets to hear it. 

It's funny to realize, all of a sudden, how seldom there are open places where we can just talk. All us demons, rulers of the universe, or so we keep telling ourselves, and on the corporeal we hide behind doors to have our conversations, while in Hell there's always someone around the corner waiting for you to say the wrong thing. I wonder if it was different when the Earth was younger and the wild spaces wider, or if it only meant the Game sent more of its spies out in animal vessels. No matter; I'm a city brat myself, and addicted to the trappings of technology, even if it falls apart in my hands.

We follow the pigeon to a motel, with a half-dead neon sign advertising vacancies. Zhune frowns. "Did he not realize they'd check these places first?"

"No one ever said the contact was going to be bright." I could use a cigarette right now. The Gamesters might be halfway across the city, or trailing us. Probably not the latter. Even if I didn't notice, Zhune would.

"I suppose not. But valuable, so try to keep that in mind if he's an idiot."

I wear my sharp and dangerous smile. It's an old friend I haven't had opportunity to embrace in some time. "Don't worry. I know how to broker a deal."


	7. An Interlude, In Which I Do The Talking

Zhune had two millennia of experience in sizing up Renegades at a glance, or those recently brought in from such a state. One couldn't always spot them on the street, but once identified, the details lined up.

The demon wore a suit that had once been expensive, now battered as if a Calabite had slept in it, and his hair fell over his eyes. He stood a little shorter than Zhune, weighed less, gestured with long fingers when he spoke. Looked over his shoulder at the wall behind him, and seemed little reassured that it was still a wall. Zhune marked him down as a Balseraph of Nightmares, rightfully frightened that his old mistress would catch up, pushing his Discord into the familiar that huddled on the motel room nightstand. Dealing with this one would have been easy, a matter of all the old phrases and gestures to put the Serpent in a receptive frame of mind for the deal.

But it wasn't his play, this time, and so he stood in front of the door, arms folded across his chest, and let Leo do the talking.

"So it didn't take two weeks," she said, hands clasped behind her back while he held the book for her under his jacket. She'd complain if he let it get too wet, and there was no reason to antagonize her at this point. "This is good. The faster we get moving, the better."

"I came to your...organization," said the Balseraph, lip curling over the word he'd chosen to replace his first inclination, "because of this promise of speed, nothing else."

"Really? Here I was thinking it was because we're effective, and won't throw you right back to the Game. Depending on the price." The Calabite rocked on her heels, a toothy smile aimed at the Balseraph who towered over her. If Zhune hadn't known better, he could have seen her as a Knight or better, toying with her prey in the full knowledge she held all the power. "You have a down payment, don't you? Or were you planning on paying with your familiar? We don't take pigeons as collateral. They have this bad habit of flying away."

"Screw _you_ ," snapped the demonling. "You think this fucking Renegade thing was _my_ idea? I'm just along for the ride." It cowered away from the Balseraph's raised hand. "Sorry, boss, sorry. Shutting up now."

"I brought collateral," said the Balseraph. He made a show of searching through his pockets, one finger placed precisely after another. "If you must be so mercenary, take this token of my, mm, sincerity in the matter." He held out a pendant to the Calabite, and said, in entirely confident tones, "It will suffice."

"Maybe," said Leo, and her smile said, I've played with Balseraphs before, and you're not winning yet. She took the pendant, turned it over in one hand. "I'll grant that it's a nice toy. But you're asking a great deal. You'd better be able to pay when we pass you off to the Shepherds."

"You'll take it, then." The Balseraph made it a command, not a question.

"Maybe." She hid the pendant in a pocket, before Zhune could read the artifact's purposes. "You're worth a fair amount, both in what you can pay and in who would pay for you. Ordinarily I'd give precedence to the former out of a general desire to tweak certain parties, but I'm not sure it's a good idea to keep you around. You do realize that cheap motels are one of the first places the Game would check, don't you?"

"They haven't found me yet."

"Operative word, yet. Did you even know they were in the neighborhood?" Leo laughed at the Balseraph's flinch. "Oh, and that's only the ones we've spotted. We've been watching out for your message, not searching the streets for dangers. They could be more from the other Word that wants you back."

"You're supposed to keep me safe," said the Balseraph. His hands were shaking again.

"No," said Leo, her arms folded. She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "No, come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that wasn't our job. We're supposed to introduce you to people who will keep you safe. Now, it's a little inconvenient if you don't make it that far, but only a _little_ inconvenient. I mean, this could get dangerous. It would be easier to shrug and say we couldn't find you before the Game got to you."

"I already gave you collateral," said the Balseraph, his hands curling into fists. Zhune said nothing, but shifted his position, slightly. Made eye contact. And the Renegade subsided, even his fists shaking. "I already _gave_ you that much. I need to save something to pay the Shepherds or there's no point in this."

"So tell me what you have for them," Leo said. "I shouldn't waste their time if it's not sufficient."

"Information." The Balseraph spoke slowly and precisely, as if other words were trying to escape around what he chose to say. "All sorts of information. And cash besides, but the information should suit them without anything else. It's valuable."

"You're sure of that?"

"Entirely."

Leo shook her head. "Balseraphs are always sure. But you're the one who needs to negotiate. So, let's cut a deal, here. Pass me what cash you have left, and we'll get you to the people who can keep you safe."

"I already paid you!"

"You paid me to listen to your proposal," Leo said. "Which is what I did. Now, if you want actual transport, with some assurance of safety on the way, you can pay separately." She checked her watch, and Zhune caught how the Balseraph's eyes took in the quality of the piece. Not many people noticed what kind of watch a demon wore, but a Balseraph nearly always would. Some day he'd convince Leo of the importance of appropriate clothing for what one wished to communicate; until then, he stole her watches that people who noticed such things would appreciate. "We don't have forever to stand around talking. How much are you offering?"

"I'm not the one in a hurry. I have all the time in the world," said the Balseraph, forcefully enough that Zhune had to push his mind away from taking this as truth.

"I suppose you're not," said Leo, "but you should be. Your information depreciates like a used car the longer you're away. As for us? We're not the kind to stick around with the Game in town. One run-in is enough to convince me to keep moving. Why should we take you with us? That's only going to pull them to follow us, since it's you they want."

It was, in Zhune's estimation, a slight misstep in there. Not enough that he felt compelled to speak up. The Balseraph lifted his chin, having caught the same detail. "If they've already caught sight of you, they'll be following you as well," he said. "The Game isn't so full of fools that they won't consider the connection between Theft and...what I wish to do."

"Never said they knew it was us," Leo said mildly. She may have misspoken, and realized it by now, but she wasn't the kind of Calabite who'd draw attention to her own mistake by acknowledging it. "What's your point, here?"

"If you take me, the both of you, they'll notice you've disappeared, and follow," said the Balseraph. "You need to make sure they're not following if you're taking me anywhere. I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure they won't be following."

Leo stared for a long moment. "Oh, _that's_ the bright response," she muttered, low enough that Zhune could barely hear it. Then she flashed back to a professional smile. "I think we may be able to work with that. How much cash do you have on you?"

"Twenty thousand," said the Balseraph, who might have once been a fearsome Servitor of Nightmares, but wasn't very sharp when it came to contract negotiation.

Leo pretended to give this some thought. "It'll suffice. For that much, one of us will stay behind and keep the Game distracted here for twenty-four hours while the other takes you to contact the Shepherds. You can deal with them on the basis of that valuable information you hold. If you can't work something out within twenty-four hours, that's not our problem."

"That's a very expensive day."

"You say you're so valuable," Leo said brightly. She smiled up at the Balseraph. "Don't you think your life is worth it?"

"For one day..." In the moment of hesitation, the Balseraph had lost, though he hadn't realized it yet.

"For long enough to reach the people who can keep you safe until you reach your destination. Which, I point out, neither of us wants to know, so don't tell us. Quality of time, not quantity. One day can be a very long time if you're in Game hands for the duration." Leo paused, too obviously a calculated effect to fool anyone who wasn't so distracted as the Renegade. "Or the hands of some other Word you'd rather not meet."

"Ten thousand," said the Balseraph. "I need something left to bargain with."

"Twenty thousand," said Leo. "You're tying up both of us for another day, and making one of us flirt with the Game besides. It's only that cheap because of the trinket you gave me, and because we like to throw some business towards the Shepherds. You can bargain with them using your information. Unless when you claimed it was so valuable you were...mistaken."

In celestial form, the Balseraph would have drawn himself even higher, wings spread majestically about him, to glare down from the heights. In a vessel, the best he could do was to sniff and raise his chin further. "My information will suffice to pay my way. If you must be so mercenary--"

"It is one of those things we do."

"--then I suppose I'll accept the terms of your agreement." The Balseraph sniffed. It came across less as a haughty sound than the sign of a man on the verge of tears. "However, to ensure you keep to your side of the bargain, I'll leave my familiar with whoever of you remains behind, to report back to me later."

Leo's face, for a moment, suggested strong opinions on people who didn't trust her to keep to her side of a deal. But she only said, "Hey, if you want to offload the feathery twit on someone else, I can't blame you. Make sure it'll do what I tell it in your absences. Now give me a minute to work out the details with my partner, since this wasn't in the original plan." She jerked a thumb at Zhune and opened the door. "Don't go anywhere," she told the Balseraph over her shoulder.

"You are being mercenary," Zhune told her, walking along the row of blank motel doors to where they'd be out of earshot. The rain fell only hard enough to annoy, not to impair hearing. "What were you planning on doing if he'd refused to cough up? Given that we were told to bring him along, payment or no."

"I would have thought of something," she said, nearly bouncing as she walked. "It was more entertaining to negotiate than tell him to pack his bags and get in the car. How does an idiot like that become so powerful in the first place?"

"Specialized knowledge. Not everyone can apply their reasoning skills from one category to another." Zhune put a hand on his partner's shoulder to stop her. "You're sure this is a good idea? To split up like this?"

"Oh, it's a lousy idea, but it's a lucrative one, and a paranoid Balseraph is bad enough without him whining about the Game through the whole trip. Twenty-four hours gives you enough time to deliver him and then some." She shrugged, slouched back against a wall with her hands in her pockets like a tiny red-headed thug. Zhune called a halt to wandering thoughts about taking advantage of the motel room. Business before pleasure. "It's a day and a third short of pushing dissonance. I can keep myself amused for that long. You need to be the one to take him; I don't know the person we're meeting, and you're not tempted to resonate his tongue off if he gets too noisy."

"And if the Game comes back to check on Anthony?"

"Then I tell them the attunement wore off, so you got bored and wandered somewhere else. Besides, I have this." She pulled out the pendant she'd been given, to dangle it in front of him. "If I'm reading this right, it'll fuzz Cherub and Djinn resonance alike. Maybe other resonances too, though I'm not as sure. If I run into any problems with suspicious Gamesters, this'll give me time to skip town."

"I'll come pick you up, as soon as I've dropped him off."

Leo shook her head. "If I've told them you left, and they watch you show up again, they're going to ask questions. I can lie low for a day, but if they get suspicious of us, it could get weird. I know where you're going next. I'll head that way when the time limit's up, and you can catch up with me when I'm in the area."

It would have been an insult to ask her if she was sure, or to suggest she could leave the city before the time limit agreed to. "Be careful," he said, because she wouldn't take that the wrong way.

Or perhaps he did say it the wrong way. She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes, the pendant vanishing into a pocket, and gave him a smile that promised someone--but someone else--a world of pain. "What, are you afraid if you leave me alone this long I'm going to disappear on you?"

"No," he said. "You're not stupid."

"That I'm not." She pushed herself off the wall. "Let's collect the snake, and get you on the road so I can start the waiting period. Pity the library's closed on Sundays, because I'm going to beat Anthony to death with the remote control if I have to sit in that apartment watching game shows with him again. Maybe I can reread something. It's not my problem if he gets charged for damaged books. I'll send the cash along with you for expenses, but I'll grab a chunk to wave at him if he gets too irate. Impudites are easily distracted by cash, aren't they?"

"Hair products and jewelry," Zhune said, "but since cash will get them those things, it's close enough to suit."

"You have more experience with Impudite-wrangling. I'll take your word for it." Leo opened the door to the motel room, and grinned at the Balseraph's twitch. "We're ready to go. Pass me the pigeon, and we'll get this show on the road."

The demonling familiar let itself be handed over with a sulky bowed head and a snarled "Fuck you."

"Same to you," said Leo, and stuffed the bird under her jacket. "Dibs on the umbrella."


	8. In Which, In A Shocking Turn Of Events, Humans Beat Out Demons As Good Company

I can only conclude that Anthony's condo complex is maintained by repair pixies who can only appear when no one is watching; the elevator that was broken when I left the building before noon on a Sunday morning now functions perfectly. Or, more prosaically, someone might be having fun with putting up the out of order signs and taking them down again on a whim. I step into the elevator, and let the doors close behind. I don't bother picking a floor. "Hey, feather-brain. Have a name?"

The pigeon creeps out from under my jacket, peering around warily before it wiggles out to stomp around my feet on the elevator floor. "Of course I have a name. Don't all of us fucking familiars have names?"

"How would I know? I've never had a familiar myself. Or been one." I slouch back against the wall of the elevator. I'm not in the mood to deal with Anthony yet. For all its stupidity, the demonling is a more pleasant companion. "You can call me Leah."

It glares up at me, head tilted to let one eye stare right at me, as if it's not sure what the catch is. "Most people just call me 'hey you'," it says, finally. "But the boss named me Apple. And I _know_ it's a fucking stupid name so I don't want to hear a word about it, you got me? Not one fucking word!"

"Wasn't planning on it." Leo isn't the most intimidating name for a demon, either. "So, Apple. How long have you been a familiar?"

"Sixty years, give or take a decade," says the pigeon, with a dramatic sigh. It's not looking at me anymore, which means Apple doesn't catch my reaction before I can stomp down on the expression. Three times as long as I've been alive, all spent as the disposable minion of one demon, subject to having its master's Discord passed along to hold. I know I'm young by celestial standards, but it's not often it hits me like this. "A while before that crawling around in the shit and the gutters, but who counts that? Figure I'm not quite to a century yet. How long you been one of those fucking Magpies?"

"Show a little respect for the guy who's getting you out of trouble."

Apple snorts. It's a strange sound from a pigeon. "If it weren't for those fucking Shepherds, the boss never would have dared to run like this. So don't go asking me for thanks, not when it's their fault I'm here, instead of in the Marches teaching some snot-nosed brat to pee his pants when he gets called on in class. I _liked_ my job, and now who the hell knows where I'm going to end up? Not the boss, no matter what he says."

I grin down at the pigeon. "Buck up, little camper. Maybe you'll end up working lookout for Theft."

"I fucking hope not." Apple fluffs its feathers miserably. "I hate this stinking corporeal plane. It's full of humans, and no matter how much you freak them out, they never wake up and go away. In the Marches, I'm dangerous and scary to one of those morons. Here, I'm a fucking _pigeon_. Even Hitchcock couldn't make a _lone_ pigeon scary."

The elevator begins to move up. I grab the pigeon to stuff it away in my jacket again. "Try to look on the bright side."

"There /is/ no fucking bright side."

"If you keep talking, there won't be, because I'll snap a wing to explain why I'm carrying a pigeon inside. Now shut up."

The elevator doors open the floor below Anthony's condo. The kid waiting cowers in his jacket when he sees me. "Hey," he says, not stepping inside.

"Jerome, right?" I step out, leaving the elevator to him. "Is your mom busy?"

He nods mutely, scampering into the elevator as soon as I'm past him. Somehow, I don't think the friendly approach is going to work on this one. "Great," I say. "Have fun." The kid nods again, wide-eyed, as the elevator doors close.

I prefer dealing with humans who don't know what I am.

The sorcerer answers her door so quickly after I knocked that I wonder if she's set up cameras to let her know who's nearby. Probably not, or Zhune would have noticed them. "Leah," she says, and sounds pleased, though I can't tell how sincerely. "Come on in."

I drop to a seat on her couch again, while she grabs cookies from the kitchen. "Morning, Alice. Busy?"

"Not particularly." She sits down across from me, with a new plate of cookies. "What brings you by this morning? Snacks and scintillating conversation?"

"Pretty much." I pull Apple out from inside my jacket. "Go make yourself scarce, okay?"

The pigeon glares at me dolefully, and clambers to the top of the couch. "Yeah, fuck you too."

"Watch your language in front of the ladies." I wave a swat at the bird, enough to make it hop. "Alice, this is Apple. I'm babysitting someone else's familiar for a day or two."

"Do they come in birds as well?" She leans forward, cookie in hand, to peer at the demonling, while it eyes her right back. "My first instructor had this odious black cat named Ozymandius who helped him with his rituals. I'd always assumed they came in feline form by default."

"If I'm not going to get opposable thumbs either way," mutters the demonling, "the least they could do was give me wings. And who the fuck are you?" It tilts a beady eye towards me. "This who you're staying with?"

"Nope. Only visiting." I get myself a cookie from the plate. Oatmeal raisin, this time around. "Alice, how's the big project going?"

"Reasonably well," she says, and blinks at me a few times, trying to work out if I know what she's making, or if I'm only guessing. I'm sure it's an artifact of some sort that'll let her use Celestial Entropy, to keep herself young, but I don't know enough about sorcery to know if that might be impossible. "There are a few details that need work before I'm happy with the final product. What kind of spirit is this familiar?"

"I'm not a spirit!" Apple wails, an impressive sound from a tiny beak. "I'm a fucking _demon_ , you monkey-headed twat."

"Demonling," I correct. The cookie's not bad at all. "I didn't bother to ask if it's an imp or a gremlin yet, so fledging options are still open." I poke Apple in the wing. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"One of the mighty and terrible fleshless ones," it replies, with one eye fixed on the sorcerer. "We who creep into the minds of the unwilling and turn them to our own purposes, their bodies puppets for our own pleasures."

"In other words, a Shedite. Figures."

"Stop it!" Apple's switched back to Helltongue. "You're not supposed to _tell_ humans these things. Keep a little mystery in it, okay? I've worked with sorcerers before, and they'll never respect you if you just out and out tell them things. You have to keep a fucking air of intrigue, moron."

"And what do I care if a human knows more than she should? Once they've hit the point of 'demons are real and one lives next door', there's not a lot of point in keeping secrets." I swap back to English. "Don't mind the bird. It's not in favor of full disclosure."

"And you are?" Alice asks.

I gesture vaguely, spreading crumbs further than I meant to. "I feel that lies should be used sparingly, and for good purpose. I'm not about to sit down and give you the encyclopedia of demons for your own convenience, not unless I'm getting something out of it, but why should I try to make a big secret out of it? Besides, the cookies are good."

There's something terribly amusing about how people distrust me the most when I'm telling the truth. Maybe because they don't expect it from a demon. Alice finds some excuse to go to the kitchen and make herself tea, and bring me a glass of milk, and we work our way through cookies in a comfortable silence while she's thinking this over.

She makes up her mind, and holds out a cookie to the pigeon. "Want one?"

It hops back and forth along the back of the couch, suspicious, but then says, "Sure."

"Now," Alice says, "while you're busy on that... Leah, would you like to see the workshop?" Not subtle in the slightest, but I get the feeling Apple's used to being kicked out of discussions.

"Don't mind me," says the familiar, through a mouthful of cookie. "I've seen a hundred fucking sorcerer's labs. Don't need to see another one. So boring."

I haven't seen a one, and there's something to be said for broadening one's horizons. I follow the woman off to what I take is the spare bedroom, where she's installed a padlock and latch above the doorknob. "Jerome used to try to get in when he was younger," she explains, as she unlocks the door. "It's overkill, but you don't really want your son drinking your potions, right? They'd give him indigestion."

"Keeping up with kids can be a pain." I wonder where Katherine is right now. Probably sitting around some Judgment-owned house terrorizing anyone in the immediate vicinity, or trying to sneak out and set the neighbor's house on fire. Assuming they haven't managed to brainwash her back into submission; even if Heaven doesn't get the mind-bending resonances Hell does, they're not inexperienced in the ways of propaganda. Maybe she's sitting in a Sunday School classroom wearing a frilly pink dress and reciting Bible verses. I think Judgment's big on Christianity.

"There are days I'm tempted to sew a tracking device into his jacket and be done with it," Alice says. She steps into the room, and smiles over her shoulder awkwardly, as if we're on a date and now I have to meet the parents. "It's not a full basement setup, but one can only fit so much into a condo this size."

I close the door behind me, and take a look around. Bookcases line one wall, packed full of hardcover books that look older than I am. The edges of the ceiling hold dangling--I don't know what, dried flowers and bones and odd trinkets, nothing I could immediately name. A fridge the size you find in dorm rooms sits next to a cabinet locked with another padlock on every drawer. And in the center of the floor, a circle carved through the rug to the concrete below.

"So how do you keep the blood off the carpet?"

Alice blinks again, then laughs. "I think that's the first time anyone's asked me that. A double-layer of heavy tarp usually does it; the second layer's in case something rips a hole in the first. Since I own the condo, I don't have to worry about losing my deposit, but blood stains dreadfully and smells awful even when treated."

I check out the titles on the bookcase, hands tucked behind my back. Most of the words I can make out on marked spines are Latin or Greek. Not my area of study. "Why not rip up the carpet entirely, and replace it with tile or the like?"

"There's a ritual you do when you set up a new space," she explains, touching various ceiling trinkets as she moves through the room. One of them's a set of wooden windchimes, clattering in her wake. "It takes nearly a week, and it's necessary for the space if you want to use your rituals without outside factors wreaking havoc. A sort of...warding of the location. I wasn't thinking ahead at the time, and so I did this ritual first before preparing the circle. Now, if I rip up all the carpeting, I open up one of the six sides of the metaphysical box, and I have to do it all over. So I've left it this way."

"They say necessity is the mother of invention. I think sloth's close behind." I pull a book off the shelf. _Mysteries of Arcane Magick_. "Why do they add a K to the end? Is it supposed to make it more mystical?"

"According to some people on the mailing list, yes, the different spelling makes 'magick' different than magic." Alice uses air quotes. It's endearing. "I wish that my field of study didn't involve people with egos the size of Las Vegas. It's hard to sift the functional information out of people writing up their own speculation and psychosis as fact." She takes the book from my hands, flips through the pages. "There's this one part where the author of this book claims to have visited Heaven and Hell alike, complete with illustrations. Now, tell me, do you think Heaven looks like this?"

She holds up the book. I stare at the picture. "Okay, while Kyriotates can look strange in their real forms, if they've been doing that with tentacles up in Heaven, no one ever told me. Or that...thing...with the feathers. For which I'm grateful. Are you sure he didn't just wander into a Lust-controlled Domain in the Marches?"

"I was going to say he made it up out of whole cloth, or wrote down one of his dreams." She shuts the book again, and replaces it on the shelf. "Which is why we sorcerers do our own experiments. We have to figure out what works. It's not approached like a science should."

"Probably because there are so many people who'd skewer you if they found out you were practicing." I poke a dangling human skull with one finger, and it sways from the cord looped through the eye sockets. Feels real enough, but I don't have much experience with bones. "Congratulations on making it to your age without ending up on the wrong side of a Malakite's sword."

"It's been a long-term goal." She leans against the wall beside the cabinet, watching me poke around. "I've heard of those. The angels of death. Or is that another exaggeration?"

I pull another book off the shelf. This one's a mass-market hardcover on the interpretation of dreams, with every illustration looking like the artist's had too much fun with the blur filter in Photoshop. "Not far from it. They're the hydras of Heaven. Cut off a head, and you have two glaring at you. They're nearly impossible to bargain with, they show no mercy, and if you don't fit whatever box they've drawn around 'good' you're evil and in need of smiting. Worst thing you can do if they're after you is to kill one; they'll come back, and bring friends. You find a way to slow them down until you can get out of there, and you don't stop running for a good long time."

"Sounds like you're speaking from personal experience," she says. "There must be a story there."

"Long story short, I ended up blowing up an entire building to get away from them." I grin at her. "Would have worked better if I hadn't been in it at the time."

"Didn't that hurt?"

"Not until I woke up back in Hell." I'm not sure if she's picking up on all the information I've gift-wrapped for her, but if she can't follow, it's not my problem. It's probably foolish of me to do this much of a favor for someone I barely know, and a human beside, but I like her. I'd like to think Katherine could have grown up to have this much confidence and focus if I'd kept the kid. "I don't remember the moment of dying, so whether it's painful or not, it doesn't much matter afterwards."

"It must be strange," she says. "To die over and over again, through the centuries." 

I shrug. "It must be strange. To fall asleep, and wander through dreams you can't control or often remember, and wake believing you're the same person you were when you fell asleep."

"You don't seem all that inhuman," she says, and watches me with steady brown eyes. "Neither does Anthony, but he seems human...differently. As if it's some sort of entertaining game, to pretend to be one of us. It fits you more naturally." And there must be something in my face, because she adds, quickly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as an insult--"

"No, it's okay." It stung, but how much can a human see anyway? "I'm...not all that old, but I've spent the majority of my life working on Earth. It rubs off." I pull on one of my cockier smiles. "Besides, it's more that I don't bother to pretend. I don't have to deal with humans at length for longer than it takes to buy a pack of cigarettes, most days. It's not that I'm less inhuman; it's that I'm not trying to wear the mask he is."

"You seem more human because you're not pretending to be one? Now that's an explanation I can almost buy." She sounds amused, standing here in this room that smells, despite all her precautions, slightly of blood. "I doubt I can trust you," she says, and I don't think that's a non sequitur.

"If anything I want comes into conflict? You certainly can't. But I've had no reason to make promises to you. What promises I make, I keep." I tap the windchimes into clattering again. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that's common in Hell. Angels and demons alike, there aren't many of us you can trust to keep our words. And I lie like a dog when it suits me."

"I'd expect no less of you. Why did you stop by, this morning?"

"Cookies. Conversation. Contact data."

"If you want to know how to reach me," Alice says, "you could have asked Anthony."

"I could have." I lean against the door, hands in my pockets. "He wouldn't have charged me for it, since he'd know I could ask you."

"Do all sorcerers have demonic handlers?"

"Most of Hell would prefer that they do. But the Prince I work for..." I shrug, and don't try for charming, because it doesn't work as well in this vessel and Anthony's probably completely inoculated her. "We prefer to deal with free agents. I've never yet had reason to need a sorcerer's help, but that's not say it might not come up in the future."

Alice chuckles. "And you'd like one on retainer?"

"Are you kidding? I can't afford that. What I want is an email address such that I can send you a competitive offer if something comes up." I pull away from the door to open it again. "And maybe some more cookies. Or the address to the bakery where you got them."

"I think that can be arranged," Alice says. "Let's go make sure your foul-mouthed friend hasn't done anything nasty to the carpet."

When I get back to Anthony's door an hour later, I'm nearly in a good mood. Sure, the Game's in town and Zhune's away, not to mention the babysitting project I got stuck with, but there's nothing quite like conversation with someone who isn't an idiot and doesn't want to kill me or have sex with me to improve the day.

Inside, the Impudite looks up from unloading the dishwasher. "Morning, Leah. Is it still raining?"

I lean the umbrella against the wall, and drop Apple on the floor. "Drizzling, last I saw. Or you could check a window." I take over the couch and open up my book before he can try to make this a conversation. Sprawling out on my stomach is a good excuse to ignore the rest of the condo.

Not that he respects reading space. "So where's Zhune?" he asks, wandering into the living room.

"He's off."

"I thought he didn't need to cycle until tomorrow afternoon."

I turn a page, pointedly ignoring the Impudite's hovering. "No, as in, gone. I'll be heading out in twenty-four hours myself. Lucky you."

"And that's it?" 

Oh, is the Lustie getting testy now? Poor boy. I wave in the general direction of where I left Apple. "The pigeon's some schmuck's familiar I'm hanging onto for the day. You want more details, ask him."

"Fuck you," Apple shrills, from somewhere out of sight. "I don't need to tell you anything!"

Anthony frowns, and moves away. A moment later there's the indignant squawk of a pinned avian. "A summary will do," Anthony says. "Oh, wait, _breathing_. I knew I forgot something."

"I don't know what the fuck is going on," the familiar wails. "Her partner's taking my boss somewhere, and I got ditched to make sure she's not selling us out. Let go of me!"

Anthony leans over the back of the couch, smirking down at me until I look up and see what he wants. "You know what they say." He waves the pigeon at me. "If you use the feather, it's kinky. It's a fetish if you use the whole chicken."

"You're sick! A bunch of sick fucking freaks, is what you are!" Apple tries to squirm free of the Impudite's grip, with no success, and resorts to ineffectual pecking. "Let me go!"

"I don't _want_ to know what you can do with a pigeon, Anthony."

"Nothing entertaining enough to bother with, in this form," he says, and heads off to the bedroom. When he returns, his hands are free again. "I don't mind voyeurism," he says, "but not with an audience like that."

"Locked him in the bathroom?"

"I'm reasonably sure a pigeon can't turn the doorknob." Anthony stands in front of the couch, watching me. "One more day, you said?"

"That was the deal. On the off chance the Game notices that we're not around anymore, better that they not do so until after Zhune's left." I wonder what I'll have to do to get Anthony to leave me alone. I have a good book and the remnants of a good mood; I'd rather spend the next twenty-some hours enjoying both.

This issue becomes more pressing when Anthony drops onto the couch, chin hanging over my shoulder and his knees pressed into the backs of my legs. "You read that dry old crap voluntarily?"

"Get off, Anthony."

"Oh, may I?"

I can't turn around to glare at him effectively from this position. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Finding entertainment in an otherwise boring Sunday." He's speaking right by my ear, warm breath on my neck. It makes me want to hit people. Specifically, him. "So long as it's just the two of us--"

"And the pigeon in the bathroom." I plant an elbow in his side, not very hard while working from this angle. "You think I'd be interested why?"

"You were the other night." He sits back, pinning down my legs. This is not a noticeable improvement. Why does everyone else get heavier vessels than I do? I may be equally strong in any vessel I wear, but there's only so much I can do about mass.

I shut my book and put it aside. I yank one leg free, enough to roll over and glare at him. "So what? I was drunk. I'm not interested now."

"There's more beer in the fridge." He drops forward before I'm expecting it, knees on either side of my hips and hands resting just above my shoulders. "Do you really want to stare at the television all day?"

"I have books." I have an increasing desire to try resonating him, and I know better. Resonating other demons only ends up with a bounced resonance skittering around in my grasp, trying to find something else to spend itself on before I lose control. Not to mention making people hostile.

"If the Game should come again," Anthony says, "you should have some idea of how Lust works, if you're so intent on pretending you belong."

"I know how Lust works. Screw anything with a pulse, and a few things without." I try to sit up, find the Impudite right in my face and his hands wandering. "I'll take my chances. Stop that."

"You say this like you aren't enjoying it." He smiles mildly down at me, and for a moment I think he's going to try Charming me. I'd be happy to make him eat the attempt, and let him try out my own resonance in return. But he only says, "Leah, what's your problem with all this?"

"That I barely know you? And don't much like you." I shove one hand away from where it's trying to trace circles on my chest. "You want to keep me entertained, find me a place in this city that does a decent rack of barbecued ribs."

"What does knowing matter? You know what Word I serve, and because of that how unlikely it is that I'll sell you out. And what does liking have to do with it?" He ruffles my hair, the way Zhune does when being particularly condescending, and grins. "Don't be so _human_ about this. It's only physical, here on Earth. I can do romance if you'd accept that, but you're not the romantic sort , so why not skip the boring preludes and get to the interesting part? Or have you bought into the Media's propaganda about finding your one true love? It's not aimed at us."

I shove another hand away. "I haven't bought into the Lust propaganda that I'm supposed to care about sex, either. Especially on the corporeal."

"But you made such entertaining noises last time," Anthony says, fingers resting on my throat. It reminds me too much of how Regan would make sure my attention was on her by not letting me breathe until she was satisfied. "You were enthusiastic enough to convince me then. Or do you prefer the celestial version? I'll admit, the corporeal doesn't have a patch on it, but when that's what's available, that's what we take."

I hate dominance games. If I give in, it's letting him take charge. If I keep snarling and backing away, it's a sign of fear, and again, he's in charge. I don't have the physical ability to push him around myself, and I'm not in a position to leave this place and wander the city with the Game in town. It shouldn't matter who's in charge, not for a single day's length, but I don't want to set a bad precedent. Zhune's bound to drag us back through here. "Anthony? I gave this whole sex with you thing a shot on Friday night. And now, as an informed choice, I'm able to say I'm not interested. Are you going to get the fuck off of me, or am I going to make an example of your entertainment system? Because it looks expensive."

"Calabim," Anthony says, and it comes off more as amusement than disdain. I don't like the condescension in there. I haven't won this round yet. He drops a kiss on my lips, then rolls off me to his feet. "I know a place that does good ribs. If we hurry, we can get there before the after church rush."

I sit up, and try to decide if it's more or less dignified to glare. Probably less, and so I affect a lack of concern. "What are the chances that you're going to try this again as soon as we get home?"

"High. Want a beer before we head out?" He moves into the kitchen, every stride elegant. No wonder the high school girls fall for him. "I'm not usually so rushed, but it's hard to be otherwise, with the time limits Theft imposes." He holds out a bottle to me, smiling. "Besides, patience is more a Djinn trait than an Impudite one."

I wonder what Zhune told him about me. But I still take the beer. "You're paying."

"Of course. The gentleman should always offer to pay on a date."

"It's not a date."

Anthony has very white teeth when he smiles. "If you say so, Leah."


	9. An Interlude, In Which I Acquire More Resources

At midnight Alice decided that she wasn't going to fall sleep and might as well make a productive night of it. Most nights, she would have made some pretense of going to bed for Jerome's sake, reading until morning in her bedroom with only a book light so that he wouldn't catch sight of the light under the doorway and know. Or did he know already? It was so hard with children, to figure out what they knew, once they grew old enough to choose their own opacity. But no matter tonight, when he'd wheedled permission to stay at a friend's despite school in the morning. He was probably staying up too late playing video games, and would fall asleep in class on Monday. She turned this over in her head, and decided it was no problem of hers. A boy of that age was old enough to learn about consequences, and the reasons for rules. Better that he make his mistakes now when they'd be small.

She'd started the tea kettle, dug out from behind the fondue pot she'd never used in fifteen years of marriage and not-marriage, and returned to the computer, when the knock came. She had her hand on the knob before she recalled the time, and hesitated. Opening a door at the witching hour could hardly lead to anything good.

But the knock had been polite, and Alice had never been good at suppressing curiosity. Down the rabbit hole again, she told herself, and swung the door open. "Leah," she said, and bit back several remarks for the moment. "Come in."

"Thanks." The demon strolled in as if this were her own domain in Hell, not walking like a creature inhuman and damned should, nor like any young woman. Dropped down in the armchair, as clear as saying out loud, don't touch. Alice retreated to the kitchen to give the demon more space. "Hope I didn't wake you up."

Meaningless civility. The demon must have seen the computer turned on, the kettle on the stove. But it meant something, that a demon would be trying to be...polite. "No, I was up anyway." Alice poured hot water into two mugs, hesitated over the boxes of tea bags. Chamomile would nearly be an insult, black tea seemed inappropriate. She settled on two bags of peppermint, sharp and inoffensive, then brought the mugs into the room where the demon sat waiting. "Tea?"

"I don't drink tea," Leah said.

"It's not for drinking," Alice said. "It's for giving your hands something to do, and providing a surface to stare into when you'd rather not look at anything else. Though you can drink it too if you'd like."

"Oh," said Leah, and picked up the mug. "I can work with that."

Alice pulled a tissue out of the box on the coffee table. "Your lip," she said. "It's still bleeding."

"Is it?" The demon pressed a hand to her mouth, examined the red. "What do you know. Didn't realize that one had broken the skin. Thanks." She smiled with teeth that should have been pointed and gleaming, but were only ordinary white teeth. "I was wondering if you would comment."

"I didn't think it was any of my business." With a human, Alice might have asked after the fresh bruises, the odd angle one finger sat at, even the limp. It hadn't seemed wise. She shouldn't have commented on the bleeding. Yet the dark line of drying blood, growing slowly, had demanded she say something.

"It isn't, really." The demon dabbed at her lip with a tissue, and held the mug of tea in one white-knuckled hand as if it couldn't burn her. "We're like cats. Lock us up too close, and we fight until the hierarchy's been worked out. This isn't particularly important. I'm leaving in the morning."

"But you do care," Alice said, and wondered if it was the lack of sleep, a dozen hours of good sleep in the last four days, that made her speak like this.

Leah only stared evenly at her with dark green eyes, and said, "What was your major in college?"

"I didn't graduate," Alice said. It didn't seem enough of an answer to satisfy. "I was a psychology major."

"Really? I minored in psych." The demon slumped further back in the chair, an odd expression passing over her face for an instant in the new movement. "You're right. I do care. But that's neither here nor there."

"I'm having a hard time picturing you in college," Alice said. "I'm not sure why." She found her tea too bitter, but had no desire to turn her back on this demon and return to the kitchen for sugar.

"I didn't look like this," Leah said, a gesture towards her own body as if it was an uncomfortable and stained jacket she'd been forced to put on. "That was two vessels back. No, three, but two vessel appearances." She frowned down at the tea in her hands, and continued, as if this followed from what she'd said, "Pain doesn't bother me. I mean, I'd rather avoid it, but it's too familiar to come as any surprise. If I let that annoy me, I'd never stop being annoyed."

"But you can't ignore this," Alice said, and found herself absurdly pleased at how intently the demon's eyes were fixed on her. "Because it's about precedence and dominance, and if you let Anthony win, others who can take him will classify you as beneath them."

"You do understand." Leah drank from her mug, and made a face. "God, you're right. This is better for looking at than drinking."

"I told you so." Alice watched the second hand of the clock on the wall sweep by. She'd chosen the clock for the silence, no ticking to remind her of how late the night had become. "I know you aren't about to ask me to act against Anthony, because neither of us is that foolish. What do you want?"

"Do you have any reliquaries?"

"I might."

Leah smiled, lips pressed together tightly. The blood oozed towards her chin again. "So here's what I'm offering. I'll give you a straight hour to Essence ratio, my time to what you let me carry away. I only need to borrow a reliquary, and I'm willing to leave you collateral so that you can be sure I'll return it. For each hour of my time, I can answer whatever questions you have to the best of my knowledge, barring what information I'm not allowed to give. I've spent more time in Hell than you have, and probably more in the Marches, so you can get something out of this."

"I have no way of knowing if you're telling the truth," said Alice, hands wrapped tight around her mug.

"Not really. Only my word for it, and what's that worth?"

A question she couldn't answer. To trust a demon would always be a mistake. And yet, and yet, the thought of unfiltered data coming from a direct source who'd never bothered to cloud the matter before, whose misdirection and lies might be closer to the truth than any of the raving in those books... "If you only need the Essence," Alice said, "I could supply you directly."

"No, I'm full. What I need is a way to carry extra." Leah took another sip from her cup, and grimaced. Still strange, to think that a demon would have personal opinions on something so mundane as the flavor of tea. "If you don't have a reliquary, I'll have to do without, but don't expect me to talk all night for nothing but tea and company." Said with such disdain Alice realized how much the demon might want tea and company alike.

"I have one," she said. "It fills so slowly it's not useful except as a place for Anthony to deposit the Essence he trades me, but I could load it up and lend it to you, in exchange for five hours of information. If the collateral's worth as much. I won't take the familiar in exchange; if I wanted someone cursing up a storm, I could invite over my son's friends."

"No, I have other plans for that one." Leah reached into a pocket. Alice pretended not to notice the demon's wince as the finger with the odd angle hit fabric on the way in, leaned forward to look at the amulet produced. "This is worth more than your reliquary, if it's a slow charger. Not much use to you, but I'll want it back."

Alice took the amulet between her fingers, felt the warm prickle of power from within the dark cherry wood, the varnish somehow slick and rough at the same time. "Made by a demon," she said. "It feels that way. A proper celestial artifact, though it doesn't feel like any sort of reliquary to me, and...if there's a Song in it, it's not one I know."

"Not a Song as such," said the demon, and didn't reach forward to take it back. "It's probably built on some variant of the Ethereal Song of Shields, if you've heard of that one--no? I don't think you could perform it. It renders the wearer safe from certain demonic powers."

"Which ones?"

"Do we have a deal?"

Alice wondered if there would be a contract to sign in blood. "Five Essence, and the loan of the reliquary for--how long did you need it?"

"I'll have it back to you by noon, or you can consider the artifact yours to keep," Leah said. "In exchange for five hours of questions that I'll answer unless doing so would put me in danger for having passed on the information. Unless you want details of my Prince's safe houses, that's unlikely to come up."

"Can I take notes?"

"Oh, sure. Take all the notes you want. Publish it in a book if you keep my name out of it, though that would get you the kind of visitors who leave corpses behind."

"I have no intention of giving away this kind of information for a book contract with some fluffy New Age publisher," Alice said. "Trading it with other sorcerers for what they can give me, though..."

Leah shrugged, a lift and fall of one shoulder. She looked for a moment like any college girl who'd been through a bad fight with her boyfriend, confident she could take him in the next round. "You already know how dangerous information can be. Once it's in your hands, I don't care what you do with it. But you'll be keeping my name off it."

"Is Leah your real name?"

"I'm not in the habit of passing out my true name to sorcerers. I'm told it causes schedule conflicts. Are you starting the five hours now?"

"In a moment," Alice said, and stood up. "I need to get a notebook and pen."

"Make more tea," Leah said. "We're going to need it."


	10. In Which I Do Exactly What I Mean To Do

I wait until eight in the morning, when I'm sure Anthony's at school, before I head back into the condo. He locked the door, and it would only take me a few seconds to pick the lock, but instead I put my hand to the doorknob and tell the lock it's old, rusty, and doesn't want to hold anymore.

Finding the familiar takes longer; I locate Apple in the closet, wrapped neatly in a leash and dangling from the rod between two leather jackets. "Hey, kid," I say, and dissolve the leash rather than try to undo the knots. I get the feeling Anthony spent time in the Boy Scouts when he was first sent to Earth.

"You're all sick," Apple wails, once its beak is free. "Fucking sick. I hate you all."

"He's not here now." I search through the clothes heaped on the floor until I find the outfit I wore to the club, and begin stripping off my clothing to change. "Ready to head out?"

"Anywhere's better than here," Apple says, and won't come near me. "We're catching up with my boss?"

"Soon. We have an errand to run first."

"Not my problem."

"If you want to see your master again, and not end up caught by the Game? You'll help me with this one." I have to search the dresser to find the gloves, and a clean pair of socks. The reliquary slides in next to my skin under the waistband of my pants, making them tighter again. It's a smooth, flat oval stone carved in Helltongue, and uncomfortable resting at my back, but the shirt and jacket over it will hide the shape from anything but a close search. "How do I look?"

The pigeon hops around me, giving me plenty of space. "Like some fucking Lustie whore trying to do punk. Why?"

"Because that's what I'm trying for." I flex my fingers in the gloves, and project a confidence I don't feel. "This will go better if you can pull off a simple job. And it's one that keeps you out of the way of danger, so you'll like it."

"What do you want?"

I open up the bedroom window; it's been painted closed and latched for some indefinite period of time, but that's what my resonance is handy for. Opening recalcitrant windows. "Remember the park where you found me? That's where you're going to meet me again."

"What's the fucking point in that?"

"You'll see." Or possibly not, depending on how dim the bird is. "From there, you're going to lead me off again. Try to make it more obvious this time. Not enough that the humans would notice, but enough that someone watching for it would." I spread out a sheet of paper on the windowsill. "This is where we're going. Keep to major streets with some pedestrian traffic as much as possible. Once we get to the alley way, get high, and out of the way. And _stay_ there, understand? I want you up above the top of the buildings, and then some."

Apple stands silent, reading the map I've drawn out. "Fine," it says. "How long do I stay there?"

"Until I leave the alley again."

"And if you don't?"

"Then that's your problem."

"What are you going to do?" For the first time, the demonling sounds young, a child in over its head. I wonder if I ever sounded like that. Maybe my first three months in Hell, before I learned the unwritten rules.

"I'm playing dangerous games." I wave the pigeon out the broken window. "Go on. I'll meet you in the park."

It gives me one last wary look, then spreads its wings and flies away, gray against a gray sky. At least it's not raining anymore.

On the way out, I'm tempted to break things. I left abruptly last night, too eager to get out of the space while I still had my brains working, and now it would be...satisfying. But a delay, and petty, and while I'm not above petty revenge, right now I'm busy with serious revenge.

People should know better than to push me. They know not to push Calabim with dangerous fists and resonances that can shatter steel, because the disadvantages are obvious. When they realize I can't break them so easily as most Destroyers, they should start wondering where all that potential danger's gone.

I take the stairs rather than the elevator, to give me a chance to think. The walking's soothing, reminding me of hot summers back in my old job, even if the weather's wrong for nostalgia. I started walking because I got tired of buying cars that would die on me, and kept walking because it gave me an excuse to do my thinking without anyone bothering me. Zhune's not handy to bounce ideas off right now, so this one's up to me.

I know what Zhune would do if he heard about this plan. He'd smack me upside the head, not too hard, and say I was letting my emotions run over my sense, and then drag me off to a safe house and feed me good beer until I was too drunk to try running off. Which is why I'm doing it now, before he gets it in his head to swing back and pick me up. The Djinn's too fond of taunting the Game for me to count on him staying away if I'm late to our meeting.

So he can't hold this against me, right?

This is where "Better to ask forgiveness than permission" comes in.

Apple meets me in the park, black beady eyes darker than usual. "Here's a suggestion," says the pigeon, hopping onto my open hand. "How about we grab a car and run for it? Theft drives fast, right?"

"Too late for that, kid. Lead the way." I toss it back into the air, and then stand up with obvious nonchalance, stroll off after it with my hands in my pockets. People have been doing double-takes at my bruises, trying not to look closely. A little girl on the swings watches me as I pass, too young to be polite about it. She probably saw me talking to the birds, and she's too young to think that's strange either. I wave at her as I go by, and she waves back solemnly. I wonder what school they put Katherine in. Probably someplace private and Catholic, with teachers in the know who can deal with a kid who isn't fooled.

Zhune would be right. This is... not a stupid idea, not really, because I put thought and effort into this, but it's for stupid reasons. I can't let people push me around, not ordinary demons like Anthony. Word gets around. Even without the Media, demons gossip and swap stories. There are Magpies I've never met who I know better than to cross, ones I know can be coerced with the right pressure, ones only good for filling out a large group if you need one more lookout and don't care how reliable they are. I refuse to be added to the list of demons you can push around.

I might be added to the list of demons who fucked up so badly they weren't heard from again, in about ten more minutes of walking. Guess I'll find out. I'm supposed to be a coward and a runner, not someone who walks into danger. If Zhune's habits are wearing off on me, I'm going to kill the bastard. I don't have the experience or the Forces to play these kinds of games.

I walk along wet sidewalks, and try to decide who to blame. My Heart, maybe. It's been whispering risk into my soul since my Prince gave it to me. Theft is the antithesis of the Game, by popular opinion, but I'd call it the antithesis of Fire. You could be an old Servitor of Fire, or a bold one, but there are no old, bold Firebugs. Let your plans burn you, and you're dissonant to match the fresh scars. So either you play it fast and wild, and go out in a bang, or you play it slow and cautious like I did. Long-term plans and careful ones.

Theft wants me to keep running, and if I get caught, so be it; I'll break free again if I'm worth it, or won't if I'm not. I'm supposed to keep walking into danger and laughing at it. Zhune's going to chew me out for this, and it's the most Magpie I've acted since I signed up. We laugh in the face of danger, and then we run away. I hope this works. I'd hate to have escaped the Game this long, just to turn myself over to them now because of a petty grudge.

I'm sure someone would find it funny. I wonder if my ultimate purpose in life is to give Dark Humor fodder for their comedies.

Apple leads me into the alley behind the club, the one I knew had to be there, with the dumpsters and the back door and walls with curtained and blinded windows stretching up on either side. It spirals up to perch on the edge of the roof, far enough away that I can't make out its expression. Apple had better get higher than before things turn noisy, or it'll regret not following my instructions. I stare at the door, and wait.

I didn't see them following me, but I expected that. I catch sight of the two when they step into the alleyway. They're not bothering to come from opposite sides. Too sure that they can catch me if I try to run. I hope at least one of them's armed with a proper gun, or this might get awkward.

"Hold," says the woman, whose Band I still haven't identified. Balseraph, I hope, because I know how to deal with them. An Impudite I can manage. A Shedite would make this whole plan interesting in new ways, but be less of a problem than most. Lilim could be problematic. I hope she's not a Habbalite. I can't stand Habbalah. On the other hand, it would make the cowering more authentic. I stand still, and wait for them to reach me.

"Where are you going, little girl?" she asks, stepping right into my personal space. Both of them loom over me, step in until my back is pressed to the dirty wall. "And all by yourself? Where are your friends?"

"Not my friends," I whisper. I'm not trying hard to portray fear, as overdoing it would make them suspicious in the wrong way. I think the wide eyes and the bruises are enough to make them ignore my expression. "They're out."

"And now you're sneaking out," she says. "Where are you going?"

I swallow audibly. "To the club. Just...wanted to get out."

"You have friends here?"

"Anthony does. I thought..." I hesitate, cower further from them. "I'm just going to talk to one of his friends. I wasn't trying to leave or anything."

"You came here all on your own? No reason but that?" She thinks she's caught me in a lie, and I can hear right through the sympathy in her voice.

"Yeah," I say. "Just to see one of his friends."

The Djinn takes hold of both my wrists, presses them back against the wall. I whimper more authentically than I'd like--the bruises there don't make that iron grip any more comfortable--and repeat quickly, "Just to see one of his friends! I was only going to see Vic, she's the one who owns the place, I just wanted to get out. Nothing else."

"Leah," says the Gamester, "I don't think I believe you. It looked to me as if you were following someone."

"Just a message," I say, and squeeze my eyes nearly shut as if tears were starting to come out. "Anthony told me to show up if someone came to tell me so, that's all!"

"You're only doing what you're told," she says, and I can see in her eyes how badly she's underestimated me. I'm weak, I'm stupid, I'm at the bottom of the ladder even in the middle of Lust. I have to bite back a giggle and turn it into a helpless squeak. "Leah, baby, you know they're using you, right?"

"They're in charge," I say, helpless and hopeless as I can make myself. I must look pathetic. "Only doing what I'm told, I'm not doing anything _wrong_ , I'm supposed to do what they tell me to!"

"No, you haven't done anything wrong," the demon croons at me, and she runs one hand along my face. Along the bruises, and now I _can't_ help myself, wasn't expecting it when my breath catches and I push back into the touch. Dammit. I thought that had worn off overnight, with everything else. How long do these things last? I know the durations of Habbalite flavors of emotion in minutes and hours and days, but I don't know a thing about Lust. I'll have to ask Zhune.

It's loss and relief both when she jerks her hand away, and funny for an instant in how her face twists in disgust. How icky, to touch Lust to condescend, and have someone _like_ it. She smoothes her expression back into sympathy. "No, Leah," she says, and keeps her hands away, even as the Djinn still pins me to the wall. "You're not in trouble yet. You're only doing what you were told, and we...understand following orders. That's what you're supposed to do."

I nod quickly. "Only what I'm told."

"But right now," she says, switching from sympathy to an acid voice in three words, "if you don't tell us exactly what's going on, you _will_ be in trouble. Understand that, little Destroyer? We can haul you back to Hell if you won't cooperate, and you'll tell us everything we want to know."

I cringe further back, pulling back against the Djinn's hands until he has to shift forward to hold me more firmly. The movement disrupts the hang of his jacket, enough to let me see the shape of the holster inside. I had been starting to worry on that point. "I--I can't talk about it, they _told_ me not to, I can't!"

"You'll find there's a great deal you can do," she says, grim and terrible above me. It's street theatre, meant to entertain with the archetypes anyone can recognize in an instant. I'm the poor little Lustie caught between loyalty and self-preservation, she's the deadly force of the Game come to bring judgment on those who'd try to slip away. The Djinn is...muscle, I guess. Big Thug is an archetype all its own, though I'd guess he's not as dumb as some people would think. The Game isn't.

"I can't," I insist, and glance up above me. No sign of Apple on the rooftop, and no visible speck in the sky either. If it's watching, I can't see from where. I don't want to have to go looking for the pigeon after this. The Djinn's eyes flick up to follow my gaze, seeking the messenger to be interrogated separately. "They'll hurt me!"

"We'll hurt you more," says the demon who isn't touching me, and I recognize her expression well enough to finally peg her Band. Habbalite, sneering at the weakness at her feet. I don't dare give her a chance to resonate me.

But I can't resist getting in the last word. "No," I say, "you won't."

Five Essence from the reliquary still cold against my skin, nine from my own Forces, and there's no one here to give me reason not to sing this one out loud. I spent years knowing exactly one useful Song, but Zhune agreed it was a good idea to pick up more. So I started with the one I'd already seen him use.

Thunder rolls around me, louder than standing beneath a lightning bolt, and the Djinn's hands leave my wrists as both of them drop to the ground, clutching their ears. Car alarms go off in all direction from the sound wave alone, leaving me in the epicenter of drums and bells.

I take the gun from the Djinn's holster. Cute little pistol, nothing fancy, and not an artifact. I wouldn't run with a Gamester's artifact anyway; it's a way for them to track you. I shoot the Djinn twice between the eyes, then turn around and do the same for the Habbalite. And then I go running like they're after me, before anyone can call in the cops.

In Anthony's condo, I wipe down the gun with one of his shirts, and then toss it under his bed. He might find it, or someone else might. Should be fun either way. Then I trot back downstairs to return the reliquary and get my relic back.

Alice opens the door before I've finished knocking. "What was that?" she demands, not stepping back to let me inside.

"That was me making a point," I say, and grin toothily at her. I pull out the reliquary, and hold it out to her. "I want my collateral back."

She drops the amulet in my hand, and takes her own little Essence machine. "You and Anthony--"

"No, but he's not going to be happy about it. I'd recommend not mentioning the loan."

"I wasn't planning on it." She shakes her head. "Play with fire, and you get burned. I should have known. He might figure this out."

"He's going to have problems of his own." And because I like her, I give her one more thing for free. "If you want to stay a free agent, pack up and move. People will be investigating within the hour, and they'll be asking Anthony very direct questions within the week. He's not going to lie to keep you out of it."

She nods,slowly. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Pack fast enough that you can get out of here by the time your kid's home from school." I leave before we can get into further conversation. I'm not hanging around either.

Apple catches up with me outside, while I'm popping the lock on an old Buick. "What the fuck was that?"

"That was a private dispute." I pull the door open, and wave the bird inside.

"Private? They must have heard that in Topeka!" The pigeon flutters in, takes a seat on the passenger side. "Every Aware person in the city, down to the monkey Soldiers, will be converging on that spot."

"Which is why we're leaving now." I slam the door shut behind me, then check the glove box. Spare set of keys. Lucky on the third try. I'm still lousy at hotwiring. "And aren't you glad of that?"

"Yeah," Apple says, settling down in the seat. I pull out from the curb smoothly, head towards the freeway at the speed limit. I can hear police sirens approaching. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here five minutes ago, and faster. Can't this fucking rust bucket go any faster? The speed limit's a minimum, you know."

I turn on the radio to shut the damn bird up, and lucky for me, it doesn't want to sing along.


	11. In Which I Keep My Promises

I find Zhune exactly where I expected to, standing on the roof and leaning on the wall to look across the city. It would be safer to wait down in the well-furnished basement, the place for Magpies on the run here in this city, but it wouldn't suit his sense of the dramatic, nor give him any way to watch for me. And I could have gone downstairs myself after passing Apple off, but that wouldn't have suited me.

Zhune turns when the door swings shut behind me, no matter that he's across the length of the roof and the wind's blowing hard enough to mask small sounds. "You're late," he says.

"By half an hour." I check my watch, and find it's still working. High quality, this one. "Okay, an hour. I was keeping to the speed limit on my way out."

He waits for me across the roof, face as inscrutable as a Djinn can make it, which is pretty thoroughly indeed. Too bad for him that I recognize this by now as a sign of him concealing strong emotions. 

I lean on the concrete wall, look out across this flat, dull city. "Finished?"

"Got the Balseraph stowed away," he says. "Did you bring his familiar?"

"Passed it off to the Soldier downstairs for delivery." I slide up the right sleeve of my jacket far enough for Zhune to see the amulet against my wrist, and the chain wrapped around a few times. "Were you worried that I wouldn't show?"

"Of course not." Which means he was, or he would have only looked amused at the suggestion.

"Because I did say I'd meet you here."

"I know." He pulls my arm over towards him, and flips the amulet over. "Did you wear this to try to make me worry?"

"I got shoved around by a Djinn of the Game. It seemed like a good idea to wear this for a week or so."

"Ah. Thus the bruises."

I pull my arm away. "No, those are from Anthony. Some of your friends are real idiots, you know."

"I do know." He takes my arm again, not quite managing a neutral expression. "Do I need to explain to him how to treat my partner?"

"No need. I took care of it."

"Fuck," Zhune says, because he knows me about as well as I do him, or maybe more. "What did you do this time? Do I even want to know?"

"He wouldn't stop pushing. I'm not in any position to fight back physically."

"I get the feeling that I won't welcome if I stop by there again."

"If you stop by there again, I'd recommend avoiding his apartment for several reasons, and the least of those is how welcoming he'd be." I pick at the chips in the cement and paint of the wall. "Besides, he'd just show his throat. You, he respects."

Zhune puts his arm over my shoulder. "There are ways to respond to challenges other than ignoring them and scorched earth, Leo. Several steps between the two. What did you do?"

"Shot two Gamesters and made a lot of noise right on the doorstop of his favorite club. While claiming he was the one who sent me there after a message." I shrug. "So Lust might not be so happy about the blame for this one falling on them, but it won't hurt them much, aside from Anthony. Not once he convinces them we weren't Lust. He has to explain why he was lying to them earlier, but that's not _my_ problem."

Zhune stares down at me. And then finally laughs. "You're going to get into trouble if word of this gets far. We're supposed to play nice with Lust."

"I did! I put up with every damn annoyance until he decided to push things too far." I smirk up at him. "Besides, what's the Game for, if not a way of harassing people we don't like?"

"And how did you take out two Gamesters? I didn't leave you with a sniper rifle. Or explosives."

"A lot of Essence, and the Song of Thunder."

He thinks this over, and I'm betting he's come up with an accurate image. "That would work."

"You need to stop giving me ways of killing you. One of these days I'll snap and you'll never see it coming."

"No," Zhune says, "I don't think you'd snap. Besides, knowing you can kill me keeps the partnership more interesting."

"We're so messed up."

"We're demons." He leans forward to kiss me on the forehead, easy as a brother to a little sister. "It's how it works. You okay?"

"I'll live." I pull my jacket back over the amulet at my wrist. "Hey, what can Impudites of Lust do?"

"Charm you more easily if you've had sex with them."

"That explains a lot." I poke him in the side. "Give me warning, next time."

"I didn't think you were going to fuck him, Leah. I thought you had better taste than that." What that says about his estimation of his own taste I don't know. Zhune looks me up and down, while I ignore him to stare over the city. "He didn't need to get so rough. A Charm with no drain barely counts as bad manners, from a Servitor of Lust."

"We got into an argument on that point afterward."

"Thus the bruises." Zhune touches my face. I don't like the gesture; reminds me too much of other people. When he reaches the bruise still lingering from the encounter in the bar, I pull back before--well, not before he notices exactly why I'm doing it.

"That part of the Impudite attunement?"

"No," Zhune says. "The Balseraph one. He's picked up a few more tricks since the last time I saw him. He didn't mention that one." I can't read my partner's expression.

"So, you know Lust. How long until it wears off? Everything else did by the end of the night, but this hasn't yet." I'll have to check the scrap boxes in the basement for new clothes. I want something more generic, less of a style. I want to be inconspicuous until the bruises fade.

"It's not going to," Zhune says. "If it hasn't worn off by now, it's not going to."

"You're kidding." I meet his eyes. "Fuck. You're not kidding."

"Sorry," Zhune says. "It doesn't happen often. But sometimes."

I don't know what to say. I honestly don't know what to say, and so I stop looking at him and go back to staring at the way the sun's sliding down towards sunset. The sky's beginning to turn gray and orange at the edges. A pretty day, for this time of year.

Zhune stands behind me, and wraps his arms around me. "I'd offer to kill him," he says lightly, "but I think you've done enough to Anthony that it would be redundant."

"I'd rather leave him to face the Game than give him the easy out of Trauma." I'm covered in bruises, but so long as he doesn't touch them directly, I can cope. I'm good at coping. Lots of practice. "Sorry about your friend."

"Didn't like him much anyway," Zhune says, and sounds almost...affectionate. From a Djinn, that means nothing, but I'll take what I can get. "I sent most of the money on to higher ups, and that should buy us a week or two of no assignments. You could use a vacation."

"And you?"

"I'm fine," Zhune says. He probably is.


End file.
